Potters, Weasleys, and Misguided Snogging
by Somewhat Quirky
Summary: Everyone knew that, at Hogwarts, if you weren't being murdered by the Dark Arts, unearthing secrets that were thought to be myth, or otherwise putting yourself in lethal danger, you were probably involved in some sort of love triangle. It was just how the school operated. (This isn't a slash James/Fred, if that's what the character listing makes you think.)
1. Back To Hogwarts

**Disclaimer: **If I owned the Harry Potter universe, Merope Gaunt wouldn't have had access to a love potion. (And even though this would cause a massive ripple effect, James I and Lily I would still have fallen in love and had a flawless baby due to their complete flawlessness.) But I s'pose I own characters like Barbara, Cordelia, Patricia ... and, well, anyone who wasn't mentioned in J.K. Rowling's family tree.

* * *

**Chapter One**

**"Back to Hogwarts"**

**Or**

**The beginning of James's seventh year**

**And Albus's sixth**

**And Rose's, too**

**And...yeah, you get the point. **

* * *

For James Potter, it began with a conversation.

For Cordelia Gilbert, it began with a Quidditch game.

For Rose Weasley, it began in an alley.

For Scorpius Malfoy, it began at a party.

For Patricia Day, the party sufficed as the beginning, too.

For Barbara Tennant, it began with a hat.

For Fred Weasley, it began on a train.

But we'll get to that much, much later.

**_September 1_**

* * *

The first of September arrived rather quickly, and for the first time, James was more than ecstatic about school. He was, once again, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and, surprisingly, had been made Head Boy. That'd made the family's eyes widen. James Potter, Head Boy. This was the same James Potter who punched Evan Cadwallader in third year, and charmed all the doors in the school to play different songs when opened. He'd received his fair amount of detentions and had been surprised to even be selected for prefect's duty, let alone Head Boy.

Sure, James had his good moments. He played well on the Quidditch Pitch, and always stood up against idiots who thought Muggleborns and first years were scum. In fact, he had plenty of good moments to match the bad. But nearly all of them involved things he'd been in trouble for anyway.

He arrived on the platform with his sixth-year brother Albus, incredibly straight-laced and law-abiding, except for the odd occasion. Al had been made a prefect, too, and, in all honesty, James had thought he'd be the Head Boy of the family, if there had to be one. His younger sister Lily, now in fourth year, was sarcastic and insightful, with a biting wit and her mother's red hair.

'Promise you won't do anything _too_ bad this year, eh, James?'

'Relax, dad,' he said, stepping onto the train after Lily and Albus, 'I'm Head Boy, remember? Might be a bit contradictory if I break more than thirty rules this year.'

Mr. Potter smirked. 'Or thirty hearts, James. Don't think I didn't hear about them from Neville.'

Making a mental note to act sourly next time he saw his Herbology professor, James said goodbye to his parents and went off to the prefect's compartment to do whatever it was the Heads were meant to do. Act responsible. Enforce rules. Things he was only half good at. Turned out, his partner was Barbara, who had been the other Gryffindor prefect. Better than some other options, James decided.

She greeted him with 'hey!' and a quick one-armed hug. There were a few faces he recognized from the previous year: Albus and Rose, sixth year Gryffindors, their Slytherin classmates Scorpius and some girl named Patricia, a Hufflepuff he'd seen before but didn't know by name, and Cordelia, sixth year Ravenclaw. Her partner and the other Hufflepuff remained quiet. There were his classmates, Slytherins Isaiah Zabini and Caladora (what kind of a name was that?) Goyle; Alice Longbottom the Hufflepuff among others, and a gaggle of twittering fifth years. Not much to look forward to.

'I'd like to start off by just saying hello,' said Barbara. 'My name is Barbara, I'm the Head Girl...'

'James,' he said on cue, nodding his head slightly. 'Head Boy.'

'It's great to see what Prefects we've got lined up this year, quite a few returning faces, and some new ones as well...'

* * *

'Did she bore you to death?' muttered James as he exited the compartment with the others ten minutes later. Scorpius Malfoy, three feet away, smirked and entered a compartment with Patricia. The remaining prefects gave non-committal answers and left.

Sneaking past the trolley of sweets that he usually would have stopped to buy from, James dodged a couple of ex-girlfriends, who weren't really girlfriends so much as girls he'd said yes to. His father's parting statement came back to him. '_Or thirty hearts, James_...'

James Potter was a bit of a player. Having girls throwing themselves at him constantly was an inexcusable part of being Harry Potter's son. He was famous, talented, handsome. Now he was Head Boy. There was a lot to like, if James didn't say so himself. But he really had a problem saying no to people. He went out on dates with lots of girls; snogged some of them. But he wasn't in love with them.

James didn't even know what love was.

* * *

Rose Weasley had always prided herself on the fact that she was an intelligent, level-headed witch. However, in the last few weeks, she had been incredibly not so. For once, her family had let her go and buy her schoolbooks alone, as per her request, and her time in Diagon Alley had gone well-spent. But not exactly as her parents would have thought.

While Mr. and Mrs. Weasley—well, one pair of them—had thought their daughter would be doing nothing more than visiting the apothecary, Flourish Blott's, and perhaps her uncles' shop, Rose had made other plans.

She hadn't meant to snog Scorpius Malfoy in the narrow slit alleyway between The Leaky Cauldron and the neighbouring shop. She hadn't planned to have a drink with him, either, or spend three hours doing things that her father would have killed her for doing. Rose was sure Scorpius hadn't even thought about exclusivity, being who he was. But Rose had certain limits, and being a one-off snog didn't appeal to her. Especially if the person she was doing it with was as good as Scorpius was.

'What are we doing?' she had asked him as they broke apart. The alley was dark, but it was safe from the eyes of other passersby in the street. Scorpius's grey-green eyes glinted teasingly.

'I thought we were snogging.'

'I know that much—but is this going to happen again, or...?'

'Do you want it to?'

Rose scowled. 'You're not making this any easier. I want to know if you're snogging me because you want to go out on a proper date, instead of having a bloody shufti in an alley two weeks before we go back to school, or if you're just doing it because I'm around and you're a bastard.'

Scorpius looked contemplative. 'I don't know. Do you want to make this into something, or would you rather stick to keeping our distance?'

'Well, let's see. Snog a girl's brains out and _then_ ask if she wants to be in a relationship, or go back to ignoring each other like nothing ever happened? I wonder.'

He glared at her. 'Fine. We're exclusive, then?'

Rose felt triumphant. She straightened herself out, pulling hair out of her face. 'Yes, that sounds about right.' She moved to leave, because she'd been an hour later than she ought to have been, but Scorpius called out to her.

'Where are you going?' he asked. 'Snog me, become—strictly speaking—my _girlfriend_ and then leave without so much as goodbye? And you're lecturing _me_ about morals!'

But that was two weeks ago, and if there was any time for morals, becoming a labeled thing was the end of that front. She hadn't told her parents, her friends, no one in her family. They would have hexed her. She would have hexed herself. If it weren't for the fact that she had snuck out to see him five nights in a row last week, and six times the week before that, then she would have probably done something drastic—like _obliviating_ him. Rose would have liked it if he loved her, but where was the realism in that? He was a Slytherin. The enemy. But—enemy or not—Scorpius Malfoy was a damn good kisser.

Rose stayed behind, near an empty compartment, while Albus and the other prefects continued on. She had her rounds in 25 minutes, but Scorpius's were set up to begin in five, so she didn't have to wait long. He had told her he'd split from Patricia to meet her in Compartment G, which had fortunately remained empty.

She carefully slid open the door and entered, flicking the lock shut on the door as she did so. She closed the blinds so that no one could see inside—which you technically weren't allowed to do, but Rose would get herself out of that later, were she caught—and then she waited.

'Oh, god, it's about time,' she said, when the knock on the door sounded and Scorpius was revealed. She pulled him inside and locked the door again, charming it so that no one else could open it before they left.

'I've got five minutes,' said Scorpius quickly.

'Then we'd best not waste it talking.'

Scorpius looked at her for a few seconds. 'What's got your wand in a knot? Never been this pushy before.'

Rose ignored him. 'Four minutes,' she said tersely.

'Not gotten sick of me, have you?' Scorpius asked moments later, pulling away when he felt Rose's enthusiasm slacken.

She shook her head. 'Of course not.'

'Then what's the problem?'

Rose contemplated telling him—telling him that even though the danger of being found here on the train was greater than the times in Diagon Alley or in the trees surrounding his house, she wasn't really getting anything from this—but thought better of it. 'Nothing. Everything's fantastic.'

It was two minutes before Scorpius had to leave, and so Rose decided to forget her sodding disappointment and try to enjoy whatever it was still lingering. If she could.

Straightening Scorpius's tie, she noticed a forgotten smear of her lip gloss and wiped it away quickly. He looked at her for clarification, raising his eyebrows.

'You're good to go.'

And then he did.

* * *

The squabbling could be heard from the corridor outside, but no one could imagine how intense the argument was unless you were witnessing it firsthand. The Weasley family—any member of it—was a nightmare to be around when debating which Quidditch team was superior. These arguments fortunately did not include school teams, because most of the family were in Gryffindor, but it was teams like Puddlemere United and the Appleby Arrows that one had to worry about.

'I'm telling you!' cried fourteen-year-old Hugo, 'the Cannons are bound to have a streak of luck soon—they've got a new Keeper, Byron Temple—'

'—Real interesting, mate,' Fred said loudly, 'but you only support the Chudley Cannons because you were brainwashed by your dad. They _stink_! Puddlemere's got the cup for sure!'

Roxanne, Louis and Lucy yelled their support, while the others in the compartment: Molly and Lily primarily, exclaimed that other teams like Pride of Portree and the Holyhead Harpies were much better.

Barbara, a supporter of the Harpies, remained quiet in the corner, because she didn't want to partake in the bloodshed that would surely be at risk of ensuing. Were Dominique or Victoire or Teddy here, they would probably argue favorably, but Dominique had left Hogwarts last year, and Victoire and Teddy were long gone. More than five years, long gone.

'You lot _do_ know you're causing quite a stir outside,' said Albus loudly, entering the compartment. 'I don't think people in the Pacific Ocean heard you.'

Hugo and Fred glared at each other. It looked a bit funny; Fred, tall, tough and muscular, bearing the same expression as his cousin, thin, stringy and about to hit a growth spurt. Roxanne and Lucy laughed and stood, grabbing their things from where they sat on the shelf.

'We're going to go and see if we can find Denise Crockford.'

Lily got up, too, just after her cousins left. 'Martin Macmillan told me he needed to speak to Hugo,' she said. 'We should get going.'

Hugo rose, still glaring at Fred and nodded. Both retrieved their jumpers and sweets and departed, leaving Molly, Fred, Albus, Louis, and Barbara in the compartment together. There wasn't much to argue about now. Molly and Fred were seventh years, like Barbara, and Louis and Albus were in the year below, N.E.W.T.s leaning over all of them like astutely-placed vultures.

'Thank Merlin they're gone,' said Molly. She sighed and leaned forward. 'I couldn't have Lucy knowing this... I'm seeing Archie Myers.'

Barbara raised her eyebrows. Archie Myers was a Beater on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. He had fair hair and a strong jawline, almost square. Barbara had never known him to utter one word, except when yelling plays. Apparently, he got good marks, though.

'That git with a face that looks like it's been hit by a Bludger?'

Molly scowled at Fred. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Come on—the Ravenclaw one?'

'What other Archie Myers' do we know, Fred?' asked Molly angrily. She looked around at Albus, Louis and Barbara, like she was seeking approval.

'How long have you two...?' asked Al.

'Not too long. Since the end of last term, we've been writing all holidays.'

Fred didn't look too happy. Barbara knew that, as he was one of the Gryffindor Beaters, he was obliged to feel less than cordial about Molly's relationship with Archie Myers. In fact, on many an occasion, Fred had called the Ravenclaw many names, the nicest of which was 'saucepan face'.

'Look, I understand that you lot mightn't be too happy for me, but at least _try_ to pretend you are—'

'No, no!' cried Barbara. 'Of course we're happy for you. Archie's...sublime. It's just that we've never really seen you two together, and...'

'Should we be grateful we've never had to witness that?' Louis put in. Leave it to Louis to ponder the physicality of the relationship. Molly cracked a smile.

'I don't know,' she said. 'We've only been on a couple of dates.'

'Can't you leave this pansy-love stuff for the girls' dormitories?' asked Fred, thoroughly disgusted.

Albus and Louis nodded their agreement. 'I mean, we're happy for you. But, really, Molls?'

This bickering continued until Molly left the compartment to seek out Saucepan Face herself.

'Speaking of relationships,' said Louis. 'I really hope James isn't off snogging some bird _already_.'

Barbara suppressed a smile. 'Who knows? He is _James_ after all.'

'Yeah, but I kind of wish he treated them a wee bit more like _people_.' Al sighed. 'You know, learning a bit more about them than their name and what house they're in—he probably doesn't even listen to that. His policy's probably more like "as long as you're not Slytherin, I'll gladly snog you senseless".'

Though she wasn't particularly interested in James's lifestyle, it did make for hilarious conversation. 'He can't hate Slytherin that much, can he?'

'Nah,' said Fred. 'Only on the Quidditch Pitch.'

'Dad raised us with that "houses are all equal, it doesn't matter" mentality,' clarified Albus.

The boys were still cracking jokes about James's taste, and how it varied, when it was time for Barbara to go on watch. She hadn't heard anything too bad yet, so hopefully the train ride was going to be just as calm as it could be, with James Potter and Fred Weasley aboard. Perhaps they were just planning for a big event to come. Hopefully it wasn't messing up the Sorting ceremony.

...Again.

* * *

It was announced that they would be arriving in half an hour, and Cordelia Gilbert was ecstatic. She was on prefects' rounds and her partner, Connor Wilson, had just left to go down the other side of the train. Though he was mildly attractive and rather intelligent, Connor was awkward and Cordelia found it hard to have a conversation with him about anything.

She was passing by Compartment J, when she couldn't help but overhear a conversation ongoing between James Potter and Christopher Wood. The door was slightly ajar and she paused briefly, trying to appear as though she were checking neighboring compartments for something.

'Now that Davies is gone, wonder who their new captain is,' James was saying.

'Better not be Ashwood.'

James scoffed. 'It can't be Ashwood; he's about as smart as two and a half sugar quills—how he's in Ravenclaw, I'll never know.'

So they were talking about the Quidditch cup, and who the new Ravenclaw captain was. A smile played on her lips. It was ludicrous—she was probably the last person they'd expect. Sure, she had played Chaser for the past four years, and scored plenty of times against Wood himself, but neither he nor James had ever paid much attention to her.

'Merlin, though, if it's Myers—'

'If it's Myers, we'll have a duel on our hands.'

Archie Myers, thought Cordelia, was a gifted Quidditch player. Not the best, not going to play for Britain, but he was a very good Beater. But...

'Archie's not the captain.'

Both James and Christopher turned in shock to see who it was standing in the doorway. Cordelia couldn't believe she'd just had the guts to barge in on their conversation.

'He's not?' said James, half-coy. He sounded more—for lack of a better word—_sultry_ than he had when speaking to Wood. 'How would you know, Gilbert?'

'He's only been playing for two years,' she said, inviting herself in and sitting down on the bench opposite them to address the boys in an almost businesslike manner.

'Not Ashwood, though?' said James, grinning.

Cordelia replied monotonously, 'he's an idiot.'

'Then who is it, dearest?' James asked.

'Me.'

James raised his eyebrows, and Wood shot him a glance, like he wasn't exactly sure what Cordelia was on about. The Head Boy turned to Wood and sighed, resting his hands on his knees. 'Well, then, mate, we've got a lot more planning to do than I thought.'

'So you're captaining Gryffindor again, Potter?'

He wasn't "James" until she was "Cordelia".

'Is that even a _question_, Gilbert?'

'And...as cocky as ever,' she said, standing. 'I'm off.'

As she left, with the compartment door slightly ajar, James called, 'bye, Gilbert!'

Continuing down the hall, smiling slightly, she heard Christopher Wood say something to James Potter, and she could almost see the incredulity on his face when he stated, 'you want to snog her, don't you?'

* * *

Having the friends she did, Rose never had to worry about carriages, and rushing to get to one once everyone disembarked from the train. Liz Pembridge, stocky in build and incredibly stubborn, had grabbed a carriage in record time; Rose stepped inside with a deep breath and pulled her coat from her shoulders. The inside of the carriage was much warmer than the nippy day outside. It was a second or two before Liz opened the carriage window and craned her neck to look for the right people in the crowd outside.

'Oi!' Liz yelled, putting arm out the window so to wave. 'Lottie! Lottie Flanagan! Come on, you—yes, you tosser, it's _Liz_!'

Moments later, the carriage door opened and in shuffled two very different girls. The first was the aforementioned Lottie Flanagan, who—like Liz—was Muggleborn, and who—unlike Liz—was just about as Irish as a person could get. She was tiny, with twinkling green eyes, permanently wide and slightly translucent, making her look constantly naïve and childish. Her hair was red, though lighter than Rose's and her family's, and flew out in loose curls from her head.

The second, Melissa Jordan, was reasonably tall, dark-skinned and confident. She was easily the strangest of Rose's friends, but having heard what Melissa's father—Lee—got up to with Uncles Fred and George, Rose was never surprised.

Melissa took the seat beside Rose, and Lottie beside Liz, who was shutting the window very robustly. As the carriage began pulling away, they began the usual talk of the previous summer; what had happened, what hadn't, who they wish they had seen, who they would have avoided given the chance, and Rose did not see fit to mention Scorpius. Lottie, Liz, and Melissa knew of the old rivalry, and though they didn't particularly care for it, Liz at least would have named it a travesty and gone immediately to inform Fred, the current eldest Weasley relative at Hogwarts.

'I heard Shelley Corner stole Tracey McLaggen's boyfriend,' Liz said.

Shelley Corner was a Ravenclaw, a gossip, and—first and foremost—the biggest cow Hogwarts had to offer at the present. But, Rose had to admit, stealing Tracey McLaggen's boyfriend was no small feat. Tracey herself had been a seventh year in the one last, so she wasn't going to be parading around the halls with her full head of gorgeous, golden hair any more, making lads swoon just as much as any Veela—except perhaps Victoire, who had been gone a fair few years now—could have. Tracey certainly wouldn't be flirting with James any more, though, which had caused quite a scandal a few Valentine's Days past: James being the first younger boy to date anyone of Tracey's caliber—even if it _was_ only for two weeks. But Tracey could definitely keep a guy. No one else compared.

Except, perhaps, Shelley Corner.

'How do you know?' Melissa demanded.

Lottie blushed. She did that a lot. 'They were found snogging at Tracey's brother's wedding—apparently Shelley's sister was a friend of the bride—and Tracey just went to get a firewhiskey or something, came back, and someone was yelling about them in the bushes! It was _frightful_!' She paused for a moment before continuing, more reasonably. 'I do feel bad for poor Tracey, though; I mean, she's gorgeous, and losing her boyfriend to a tart like that—at her brother's wedding, too...'

The four girls bowed their heads, as if in mourning.

'I don't know how we're supposed to get boyfriends if we've got Shelley Corner romping around this year,' said Melissa. 'She'll snog anything with a pulse.'

'I doubt that's even an important factor for her,' Liz muttered.

'Well, at least I'm sure my family's safe,' Rose said, setting her coat down beside her and exhaling. 'I mean, if she's already had James, and if she has any ethics—which I'm sure she probably doesn't, but let's give her the benefit of the doubt—she won't go after any more Weasleys.'

'Yeah, but then what about Scorpius Malfoy?'

Liz glared at the rest of them when they looked at her with puzzled expressions. 'I mean, I know he's a Slytherin, and he can be a right pain in the arse, but he's dishy and none of you can say otherwise.'

Liz was certainly right on that one, Rose agreed. Scorpius Malfoy _was_ dishy. He was also meeting her every other night for a good, long snog if he knew what was right for him.

'I suppose...but isn't he with that Day bird? What's her name—Patricia?'

Rose snorted. 'They're just best mates. Trust me: there is _nothing_ happening there.'

Ignoring her friends' questioning looks, and the fact that she probably shouldn't have let her guard down long enough to say even that, Rose looked out the window at the rapidly darkening sky, and saw Hogwarts looming over them.

'We're almost there.'

They were climbing out of the carriage a little later when Liz said, 'I wonder what James has planned for this year.'

Not as Head Boy—no, definitely not. No one talked about his duty when they mentioned James. Liz was talking about what dastardly deeds the infamous James Potter and his partner in crime, none other than Fred Weasley, would plague the Hogwarts halls with over the months to come. Where there was usually tinkering going on in the highest rooms of the Burrow, Rose had heard none; she wondered if, perhaps, this year James would decide to be a bit more mature, to tone things down.

No, this was James she was talking about.

Lottie jumped out of the carriage and landed on the ground with a little hop, and then Rose did the same. The castle stood omnipotent before her. The year was about to begin.


	2. The Birth of a Conquest

**Disclaimer:** As previously stated, I'm not cool enough to write the Harry Potter series. But I'm cool enough to try and write this. Don't know if that changes anything.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

"**The Birth of a Conquest"**

**Or**

"**Shelley Corner's a cow".**

* * *

_(The rest of)** September 1**_

Fred Weasley enjoyed the first day of the return to Hogwarts. Granted, he usually had a prank planned, and since it was his seventh year, he was probably getting a little sentimental, but he still overlooked the Great Hall in all its splendor, and allowed a smile to form on his face.

Everyone had unpacked, and was bustling in to get seats before the first years were Sorted. Since so many of the Weasleys were Gryffindors, the speckled orange up and down the table made it easy for Fred to spot; James patted him on the back and they set off inside together, as they had for seven years.

Headmistress Sprout had gone from Professor to her current title when Minerva McGonagall passed away in the summer after Fred's third year, and so the stout ex-Herbology professor now sat in the huge chair in the centre of the teachers' table, watching her students file in.

She had taken a year or two off from teaching after Fred's first, and instead acted as Head of house for Hufflepuff and Deputy Headmistress until she was made the official one—a teary occasion for all, including Fred's mum and dad and aunts and uncles and grandparents and pretty much every adult in his life, because her coming symbolized McGonagall's death, and that was very painful for all of them.

'Welcome to another year at Hogwarts,' Sprout said loudly, her voice echoing out to the farthermost corners of the hall. 'I would just like to take a moment to say hello before the Sorting ceremony begins.'

There was a pause of utter quiet in the hall, before Sprout said rather comically, 'hello!' and muttered, 'now let's get on with it.'

The doors at the end of the hall opened and a set of rather small, scared-looking children entered the room behind Professor Longbottom. They walked up the aisle, and collected in a group at the front of the hall, where a stool had been placed, the Sorting Hat atop it. Professor Longbottom stepped up and explained, 'This,' he said, taking the Hat by its tip, 'is the Sorting Hat. It will place you into one of the four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. When your name is called, please come up here and sit down, after which the hat will make its selection.'

He called up 'Electris, Vincent', who became a Slytherin, then 'Gangley, Tally', a Ravenclaw 'Gilbert, Mitchell'—a name at which Fred felt James tense beside him, because this Mitchell kid could be none other than_ Cordelia Gilbert's brother_. Which he certainly was.

They possessed the same light brown hair, large brown eyes—and when he reached the Ravenclaw table after being Sorted so, Cordelia gave him a one-armed squeeze.

From the rest of the Sorting, Gryffindor earned 'Higgins, Ed', 'Merebrook, Ingrid', 'Styles, Larry', and 'Colfer, Lea', who all seemed rather tiny in Fred's eyes.

The food tasted just as brilliant as it had in precedent years, and left Fred with the same familiar feeling of eating too much of a good thing and needing to engorge his clothing size because of it. He and James planned how Quidditch tryouts would be run, who they would probably need—a discussion which Christopher Wood, a few places down, enthusiastically partook in, much to the discomfort of the fourth year girls sitting between them.

* * *

With the Sorting Ceremony long over, and the start-of-term feast at a close, Patricia let her mind wander. She usually completely lost track of time when she did this, because she thought of practically everything: her meal, what she thought of that red robe the Astronomy professor was wearing, how cold it would be if she were to swim in the Black Lake in December.

But this time she didn't spend much time pondering those particular facts or ideas. This time, she was wondering what could possibly be going on with Scorpius. Why he'd been unable to come and see her over the last few weeks, where he had been on the train and why he had come back with his tie done up better than it had been when he left her.

A horrible thought occurred to her. It was the kind of thought that sneaks up and makes sure you can feel your heart breaking, piece by piece.

What if Scorpius had been with a girl?

This was highly possible. There were countless girls at Hogwarts who would kill to be with him, and he could have picked any at random to go and fool around with. It seemed like a bit of a prick thing to do, and not very much like Scorpius, but here they were, sixteen, and she honestly couldn't blame him.

Or the girl. She definitely couldn't blame the girl.

As they left the Great Hall for their respective common rooms, Patricia realized that she envied the girl, if anything. Wait. She wasn't allowed to feel like this about Scorpius. They were best friends. Platonic relationship. Completely.

'You all right?' he asked her as they herded the first years into the common room. His words shook her from her daydream—even though it was technically nighttime.

'Just worried about the stress this year's going to cause—exams, preparing for N.E.W.T.s...you know?'

Scorpius nodded and then cracked a smile. 'Can't be that hard, though. I mean, if James Potter can manage to pass, I don't know why you're worried.'

Patricia laughed, leaning against the wall beside the dormitory door. 'That's mean.'

'But so incredibly _true_,' Scorpius added in what was clearly an impression of her voice. He feigned shock and disgust. 'Patricia!' He cried extravagantly, throwing the back of his right hand to his forehead. 'Why would you say such a horrible thing about St. Potter's son? His dad saved the wizard world! He got top of the class in Transfiguration! And Potions! Oh, yes, James Potter is positively _delicious_! God's gift to women!'

Patricia forced his hand from his head and said, 'Shut up; people are going to think you're off your rocker. Last thing we need is first-years under the impression you've got some kind of forbidden romance going on with _James Potter_.'

'That'd be the day,' said Scorpius. There was a pause, during which Scorpius seemed to notice the time, and he asked, 'So, are you going to bed or...?'

'I'm not sure,' said Patricia. 'Catching an early night might do me some good. But then again, Ruby's bound to keep me up with her incessant chattering. So I think I'll stay down here.'

'I didn't think you used the word "incessant", Patricia.'

'Cordelia must be rubbing off on me.'

Scorpius licked his thumb and scrubbed a place on her shoulder with it. 'Don't catch The Ravenclaw.'

Patricia grinned and pushed him away. All she could think about was the ridiculous possibility that Scorpius could have a girlfriend without him telling her. Would she be able to smell this other girl on him? That seemed ludicrous, creepy—incredibly so. And it wasn't like they were married, so she had no claim over him, anyway. All she was being was stupid.

'You chose Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures at the end of last term, yeah? And Muggle Studies?'

She could tell Scorpius was just saying that to make conversation. He had helped her pick. Of course, no one could be Scorpius _sodding_ Malfoy, smart enough to take Arithmancy and learn about numbers and how things could be decoded from certain combinations and things that were entirely too boring for Patricia to think about.

'Yeah, but it's up to old Slughorn to decide if I can keep going with them.'

Scorpius sat down by the fire, lounging in an armchair, and said, 'It's a wonder that you've not dropped one of them yet, to be honest.'

'Well, I might have to,' said Patricia, 'if I got horrible marks. Besides, with N.E.W.T.s next year, we really can't afford to overwork ourselves.'

She looked over at Scorpius from the seat she herself had sunk into, and inspected his expression. He didn't look particularly different than he had at the end of fifth year, minus the growth of an inch or two and an even more defined jaw-line. But there definitely was something changed in him. Something he was keeping from her.

'What I don't understand,' said Scorpius, 'is why you're already training yourself for a mundane profession. You want to work in a shop in Diagon Alley—where's the adventure in that? Who are you helping, by doing that?'

'Hopefully, the people who need to buy something.'

Scorpius smirked. 'But then you're not dreaming at _all_...you know, you won't be young and okay with earning 30 Galleons a month—if that—forever. There'll come a time where you wish you'd made a more practical choice.'

Patricia glared at him. Why did he always have to be so "long-term plan", "practicality", "economy"? Couldn't he just accept that perhaps she wasn't like the Malfoys, that she'd be okay with not making a huge difference to the world, or living in lavish luxury? Some people had lives that made you want to read about them, and some people had to be there to help them along the way. She wasn't someone who intended to make a huge ripple.

'I'm sorry that not all of us can be Scorpius Malfoy,' she said.

'If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure I only got an E on the Arithmancy O.W.L.'

Patricia rolled her eyes. 'Like that's meant to make me feel any better.'

They were two of, perhaps, seven people in the common room. The gaggle of third years had retreated to their beds as the moon arrived in its proper place in the sky, and now it was Scorpius—who smelled vaguely of vanilla, but she pushed the thought away, perhaps it was just a new cologne—Patricia herself, Caladora Goyle and her prick of a boyfriend, and a few unnamed fourth year boys. Scorpius's eyes stayed on Caladora and the boy she was sitting with by the table at the back.

'We should probably go,' said Patricia. 'I don't want to have to watch them go at it.'

As if on cue, Caladora's arms wound around her boyfriend's neck and they embraced rather passionately. Scorpius looked like he was about to be sick. He nodded.

* * *

It was midnight and James sat alone in the seat by the window, soaking in the view from Gryffindor tower. In the moonlight, everything took on almost a milky appearance, and for once, the entirety of Hogwarts was calm. He could see Filch wandering across the grounds, and a tiny ball of shadows following behind him—the annoying feline creature known as Mrs. Norris. She'd spoiled the planning of many a prank by skulking about as she did.

But, James being James, his mind wasn't on things like the serenity of Hogwarts at night. It now resided on a mixture of classes and girls and Quidditch. Unfortunately, the combination of all three of those subjects in his mind led to one—Cordelia Gilbert.

Sixteen years old; tall, lithe, above averagely good-looking. Good Chaser, gave him a challenge. He hadn't snogged her in a broom closet yet, unlike a vast selection of other girls. But then again, Cordelia Gilbert didn't seem like the sort of bird you had a snog with and then forgot about. She'd probably hex a bloke if he did that. If he wanted to get this one's attention, it'd take some work. There wasn't a doubt in his mind, with one year left of his time at Hogwarts—this girl would be worth it.

* * *

_**September 2**_

* * *

'How would you do it?'

Albus looked up from his cereal in confusion. 'Do what?'

James put a leg over the bench and sat beside his brother, turning to the side and leaning his left elbow on the table to face him. 'Catch a girl's eye.'

'Since when do _you_ need help in that department, Mr. "James-Potter-Quidditch-Captain-Head-Boy-Dreamboat"?'

'Remind me not to put that on a business card,' said James, buttering himself some toast. 'But what if this girl wasn't like the others?'

'Oh? Going for a little substance this time, perhaps?'

'Try Cordelia Gilbert.'

Roxanne, who had been sitting about a foot from Albus, leaned over to be part of the conversation. She gave James an incredulous look and said, 'Ravenclaw Cordelia Gilbert? Quidditch one?'

'Yeah,' said James nonchalantly, taking a bite of his toast and sighing. 'Might be a bit of fun.'

Albus's spoon clanged against the cereal bowl. He looked up, his almond-shaped green eyes identical to his father's and boring into James's.

'If it's a bit of fun you're after, don't even_ think_ about that kind of thing with Cordelia,' he said rather seriously.

'Why would I—'

'I could list so many reasons why you'd be an idiot to,' Roxanne interrupted. 'But I honestly don't think you've got half a chance.'

James raised an eyebrow. 'Oh?'

'From the little I know, she prefers proper relationships to shagging in broom closets.'

'Hey! I've made it pretty obvious, I don't shag _anyone_—I'll admit to a lot of snogging, but I'm not a loose shag!'

It was true. Sure, he may have been pretty active with girls on the level of _kissing_, but going at it was a completely different matter. That was actually something important. James knew he was pretty contradictory, but that was simply how he operated. At least he had _some_ morals.

'_Snogging _in broom closets, then,' said Roxanne. 'She's not into that.'

Fred smirked beside James. 'Looks like you're out of the running then, mate.'

James glared at him. Perhaps the word choice hadn't been the best. He hadn't meant "a bit of fun" as in something he'd put half his energy into, he just hadn't wanted to sound like he was falling, hard and fast. Which he wasn't. Because James Sirius Potter didn't fall in love. It was emotional and messy, and someone always ended up hurt. He'd been fortunate enough that it had never been him.

That was why he liked his flings. He liked the fact that they were passionate and enthusiastic and he enjoyed them while they lasted. But they were never _love_. Both parties knew that.

The end of breakfast approached rather quickly and James headed off to Charms with Molly; Fred and Barbara hanging a bit behind.

'I can't believe you're going out with Archie Myers.'

Molly turned, a mix between wide-eyed and annoyed. 'Who told you?'

'Fred.'

She snorted. 'Shouldn't have asked.'

They passed a collection of Hufflepuff fifth-years who were curling their hair with the tips of their wands. One of them caught James's eye and smiled. It wasn't the kind smile. It was more the "I'll be willing to spend some quality time being intimate with you in a broom closet of your choice" kind.

'So, haven't gotten it on behind the Quidditch Pitch yet?'

'What happened to broom closets?' James smirked.

'Seemed a bit unoriginal.'

'No,' he said. 'I haven't.'

'Not snogged _anyone_?'

James shook his head, eyebrows raised. Molly looked approving. He wasn't sure if he should tell her about the whole "Cordelia" thing. He wasn't even sure if _he_ wanted the whole "Cordelia" thing. It had sounded like a fantastic idea last night, but then it was dark and he was alone and apprehensive and probably a bit delusional.

'Wow—maturing, are we?'

'Don't look too excited.'

Professor Flitwick hadn't changed over the past few months. He was still less than four feet tall, with wayward facial hair and pinched, almost elf-like features.

'Hello, James!' he squeaked, 'hello, Molly! Tell me, how are your parents?'

'Mum and Dad are great, Professor,' James replied, setting his book on one of the tables and adding, 'Dad's quite busy. Auror Office and all.'

'Ah, yes. I get owls from your aunt Hermione every so often, filling me in on everything...'

* * *

September 2nd began too slowly for Albus's liking. Still, he found himself in first period Arithmancy with a rather bored-looking Scorpius Malfoy, his cousin Rose, and Cordelia Gilbert. There were a few others in the class, but no one that he spoke to had received a high enough mark to continue the class. Well, except for Rose.

He wasn't sure if he could count Cordelia, because they had worked together a few times and had spoken on occasion, and she wasn't bad. Now all he could think about was the fact that his brother probably wanted to shag her.

Deciding it was either the Ravenclaw or Rose—Scorpius was okay, but he didn't want to pretend they were friendlier than they were—Al took the seat beside Cordelia.

'You don't have another friend coming, do you?' he asked.

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. 'What makes you say that?'

'I don't know, I just would've thought that your brainy mates might've wanted to take Arithmancy again.'

'Oh, contraire. None of my "brainy mates" wanted to take Arithmancy in the first place.'

'What about Shelley Corner?'

Cordelia rolled her eyes. 'Shelley Corner is _not_ my mate.'

Albus shook his head. 'Suppose not. She's a bit of a tart, from what I hear.'

Saying Shelley Corner was "a bit of a tart" was being kind. She was reasonably intelligent, yes, but she was also a gossip monger who didn't wear a lot of clothes. The ones she did wear ended up on the floor of some lavatory somewhere in the castle. Shelley was armed with an arsenal of things boys were meant to find attractive: full, film-star lips, doe eyes and long, curly dark hair. And, of course—

'Didn't James snog her?'

Albus laughed. 'So even _you_ know James is a bit of a...'

'Oh, trust me. _Ravenclaw_ knows. You haven't heard the cat fights in the dormitories.'

Her tone didn't make him think that this was a good time to bring up the fact that "hey, my brother may try to snog you over the course of this year, but I've told him he has no chance because you're actually a respectable girl".

Deciding it was time to move on from the subject, Albus said, 'So, I hear you're Quidditch captain.'

With a sigh, 'Yeah. I am.'

'Congrats.'

'James is probably over the moon.'

Yes, he is. 'Why?'

'He's most likely decided this year's going to be an easy victory—up against Scorpius, myself, and that Hufflepuff, Clarke.'

At the mention of his name, Scorpius looked up for the briefest of seconds, as did Rose, who was seated behind them, to the right. Both looked down once they realized it was just a passing comment.

'You underestimate your ability,' Albus said, but then thought better of it. He added, 'Or rather, you overestimate James's ego. He's actually not that bad.'

Now he was actually _helping James out_? A day into his sixth year, and Albus Potter's judgment had been destroyed. Sixteen years of disapproving of his brother's behaviour, only to get to this? Albus shrugged it off.

'I suppose not,' said Cordelia. 'He doesn't seem too bad. I mean, he must've been made Head Boy for something.'

Albus nodded.

'You know, something that isn't holding the record for snogging the most girls.'

Albus actually laughed at that, thinking about what he had said at breakfast. _If it's a bit of fun you're after, don't even think about that kind of thing with Cordelia_.

He could see why James liked her. She was intelligent, and funny, and didn't just think of things one way. Plus, she was reasonably pretty, and tall, and athletic. And she was a Prefect.

'Do you know what the schedule for patrols is?'

Realizing his sudden question was a little vague, Albus was about to clarify that he had, in fact, been talking about prefects, but Cordelia seemed to have understood.

'Yeah, um—wait a minute, I've got a copy somewhere.'

She went through a couple of books and pulled a paper out of the front of one. 'Here we are,' she said, running a finger down the timetable until she found his name, 'You're next week with...Andy.'

'The Hufflepuff?'

'Yeah.'

James and Fred had mentioned seeing her on their visits down to the kitchens. Apparently, she was a big fan of cakes. Not that she was fat—because she wasn't, he'd seen her around—but simply that all the house elves knew her by name and asked, 'oh, Miss Andy, cake again, Miss?'

'She's not bad, sort of funny,' said Cordelia reassuringly. 'I don't think James has snogged her,' she added jokingly.

'Is James and his relationship history just a running joke now?'

'Yes.'

'I'll be telling him that.'

Cordelia looked anxious all of a sudden. 'Oh, please don't—I've got watches with him this week! That'll mess everything up.'

_Of course_ James had organized the schedule for he and Cordelia to patrol together. Was there anything his brother _wouldn't_ do for a snog? It took everything Albus said not to actually shake his head.

* * *

'I haven't got class until eleven.'

Scorpius had her against the wall of a deserted classroom, somewhere with a view of the Quidditch Pitch. In between kisses he said, 'I have Potions in half an hour.'

What _would_ people think if they knew that Rose Weasley—perfect, straight-laced, probably-Head-Girl-next-year, daughter of the people who saved the wizard world Rose Weasley—was getting intimate with Scorpius Malfoy in empty classrooms and broom closets all over school? Oh, Merlin—what if her _family_ were to find out? That would cause a bloody riot.

It always seemed to be Scorpius who had to leave first. On the train, they had only five minutes, and here—the first day of school—they had a bare thirty? It didn't seem fair at all. And it was all because of his schedule. Of course, she was just as packed, what with all her classes, and Arithmancy and how she had just wanted to walk over to run a hand through Scorpius's hair and pull his face to hers but then there had been classmates and Albus and Cordelia _sodding_ Gilbert and that would have probably been deemed "inappropriate". Plus, they'd agreed to keep everything strictly under wraps. If her parents found out...

'Someone's coming,' Rose said, pulling back about half an inch just so that Scorpius could hear her. She repositioned her blouse and crouched alongside Scorpius behind a row of desks. He looked at her and mouthed, 'A Galleon it's someone related to you.'

Knowing that he was joking, she jabbed him with her elbow.

Caladora Goyle's boyfriend had an arm around the waist of a girl—a girl who was most certainly _not_ Caladora Goyle. Despite how foul he should have felt, how he shouldn't have been looking so extremely pleased with himself, how he really shouldn't have been with a girl who wasn't Caladora. Rose didn't even like the Slytherin girl that much, and yet she pitied her. Caladora's boyfriend was an oaf.

'_Well, butter me up and call me a sodding sandwich!_' Scorpius exclaimed softly. 'That's Shelley bloody Corner!'

It was true. The girl was wearing a Ravenclaw tie, and she had the exact same dark hair that made her recognizable. Rose gagged. This was the same Shelley Corner who had snogged her _cousin_. Merlin, if James knew what was going on right now...

Caladora-Goyle's-Unfaithful-Boyfriend—or The Cheating Scumbag, as Rose nicknamed him—was pulling Shelley into the room, and both of them were wearing such lustful expressions that it almost made Rose ill. Then again, she was playing about with Scorpius Malfoy, so she couldn't place judgment.

'I have Charms,' Shelley said, sounding annoyed. The Cheating Scumbag groaned. He pulled her in, giving her one, steaming, passionate kiss, and just as she was about to pull away, he ran his hands over her back. She wound a leg around his, and pushed him to the wall, her skirt hitching up dangerously high.

'What in the name of Merlin's _lop-sided bloody_ _left nipple_ is going on?' Scorpius whispered beside her.

'I have no idea!'

Shelley and The Cheating Scumbag broke apart, both panting slightly. Shelley righted her skirt. The Cheating Scumbag straightened his collar, and then sat up on one of the desks, pulling Shelley closer to him by winding his legs around her waist. They were six inches from each other.

'See you at lunch, then?' she asked sensually, looking up at him through her made-up eyelashes.

'Third floor corridor, near the statue of that bird with the funny teeth.'

'How poetic,' whispered Scorpius, as Shelley and The Cheating Scumbag left. He poked his head up from below the table to observe their surroundings. 'All clear.'

They sprung up. Rose sighed. 'I think we may have just found out about one of the biggest scandals to happen so far this year.'

'It's the first day of school,' said Scorpius.

'Guess they're starting early then.'

'I've got Potions in fifteen minutes.'

'Yes, I suppose you should go.'

He was at the door before he turned and said, 'Don't tell anyone about _that_, will you?'

'I'm not daft—if I tell them, then I'll have to mention you at some point, and then they'll ask why I was with you...we're not supposed to get along, you and I.'

'I may be a bit of an idiot, Rose Weasley; but I know that much.'


	3. What a Prikk

**Disclaimer: **No Potter or Weasley is of my creation, as much as I wish that were the case. Anyone without that last name (except Teddy Lupin, but you won't be seeing him just yet) belongs to me. Except not _really_. You can't legally own a person.

* * *

**Chapter Three:**

"**What a Prikk!"**

**Or**

"**Shelley Corner is **_**definitely**_** a cow".**

* * *

_(The rest of) __**September 2**_

* * *

It was ten to nine in the evening, and James was waiting. He had been supposed to wait near the library—he and Cordelia's agreed meeting point—but since he already knew where the Ravenclaw common room was, James had decided not to waste their time with walking more than necessary.

Five minutes before they were set to meet, the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room opened, and out popped a slender leg, then the equally long twin, accompanied by the rest of Cordelia Gilbert's body. She jumped slightly when she saw him.

'Hey,' she said, slightly breathlessly.

'Hey.'

She closed the door and stepped forward so that she and James could stand together comfortably in the middle of the corridor. 'I thought we were supposed to be meeting at the library.'

James shrugged. 'I got there early and knew where to go.'

Cordelia nodded. 'So, are we going to have to check every single broom closet in this castle? As Barbara said, "lots of amorous couples at Hogwarts"—and you would know.'

James raised an eyebrow. 'Wouldn't you?' he accused.

Cordelia looked at him bluntly. 'Do you honestly think that people find this'—she gestured to herself—'attractive?'

Well, I do.

'Why wouldn't they?' he asked.

They were walking down the corridor now, getting closer to the corner where they would turn off and away from Ravenclaw Tower.

'Oh, I don't know,' Cordelia said sarcastically, 'Perhaps the fact that I'm as tall as, if not taller than, most boys is kind of a turn-off.'

'You're not taller than _me_,' James pointed out.

'No,' Cordelia said lightly. 'No, I'm not.'

He supposed it was time to reveal the secret of his success. Hopefully, she wouldn't be an idiot and bust him for it. 'Want to know a quick way to keep an eye on everyone in the castle?'

'Er...all right.'

James reached into his pocket and pulled out the Marauder's Map. He wasn't meant to have it, or know how to work it, but he had had help from the Marauders themselves for that. When he was twelve, he'd snuck it out of his father's desk drawer and gone to inspect it. He'd tried to open it, but instead got the replies:

_Mr. Moony sends his utmost regards to James Sirius Potter, and wonders how someone managed to have two Marauders for namesakes._

_ Mr. Wormtail expresses his highest astonishment and joins Mr. Moony in his wonder._

_ Mr. Padfoot hopes that this isn't just some fluke, and that some baby Prongslet does, in fact, exist and has his name as well. He tells James to swear that he's up to no good, and to do it solemnly._

_ Mr. Prongs wonders how blatant Mr. Padfoot could really be about the instructions of the map, and only asks that James Sirius Potter manages his mischief, otherwise everyone else will be able to see. Also, he wants to know if James is any relation of Lily Evans's._

It took James a little while after that, but he understood the Map, and he figured out that Prongs must have been James Potter I, and that the Lily Evans he mentioned was Lily Potter, the woman who became his wife. Padfoot was most likely Sirius Black, given the fact he mentioned also being a part of James's name.

About half an hour later, James and Cordelia were sitting in the Head's Office, the Map unfolded in front of them, checking it every so often and snacking on sugar quills.

'You're strangely calm about all of this,' said James. He gestured to the map.

Cordelia shrugged, took the tip of the sugar quill out of her mouth and said, 'Suppose it's easier than having to go through every single broom closet.'

'Which, I might add, is very easy to avoid.'

In his experience, he had managed to avoid the Prefects on duty. It was almost too easy. He took another bite of his sugar quill and pondered how to start a conversation that didn't involve Prefect assignments, or the fact he "got around".

'Want to go down to the kitchens?'

Cordelia looked up. One of the teal woolen sleeves was pushed up higher than the other on her arm, James noticed. Her eyebrows furrowed a moment. 'All right.'

He tucked the Map under one arm and opened the door for her as she stepped out. It was noticeably darker, even though it had been dark when they met at nine. So they'd just spent an hour sitting together in the Head's Office, talking about nothing in particular, and eating sweets. They still hadn't gotten close to snogging. James decided he would have to regroup.

'Are you planning on—'

James stopped, and put it a cautionary arm out so that his companion would do the same. In front of them, curled against the wall, was a band of Slytherin boys. Not the cool ones, who played Quidditch or at least didn't act horribly towards Muggleborns, these were the grungy ones. The ones who thought they would "carry on Voldemort's legacy".

From the whimpering he could hear, James guessed they had cornered some poor, defenseless kid and dragged them out here. It would be easy enough to grab one after dinner, they were far enough away for the people in the Entrance Hall not to hear.

'James, we have to—'

He shushed her, and crept silently forward, making sure to stay in the shadows. From the feeling of movement behind him, he guessed that Cordelia was doing the same. When they were about ten feet from the Slytherins, he stepped into the light.

'Nice night, isn't it?'

The Slytherins jumped; the ringleader, tallest and most oafish, turned around. 'Potter?' he said slyly. 'Pleasant surprise. We've been waiting for you.'

James raised an eyebrow. 'Good to know I haven't disappointed.'

He could see one of them raising their wand, but before it had cleared the bloke's pocket, there was a grunt and he fell to the floor, flat as a board. _Petrificus Totalus_. The ringleader turned around, and James realized it was Thomas Prikk, who—if his last name was any indicator—was a bit of a twat.

'Who's there?' Prikk questioned, alert now. He and his two remaining companions looked around.

Meanwhile, James was hoping that Cordelia would do the exact opposite, _not_ show herself, and not risk getting hexed by some idiot who would probably mess it up anyway.

There was a cry and another of Prikk's mates was attacked. He sprang backwards, stunned. Prikk and his last remaining friend looked a little frightened, but quickly glared. Prikk pulled out his wand and fired it into the darkness, right where Cordelia was.

Then everything happened at once.

Cordelia rushed out of her hiding place, barely avoiding getting hit by the spell, and ended up just about crashing into James. It wasn't a romantic gesture—why would it be?—but now Prikk and Oaf Number 2 knew who it was with James, and the fact that she was now standing right beside him, one of the Head Boy's out in front of her, while the other was holding the wand, pointing it straight at their faces.

'Not going out with this one, Potter?' Prikk taunted. 'Paying the younger birds for a snog now?'

Something in James snapped. Was it what Prikk had said, or the tone with which he said it? It didn't even matter. He pulled Cordelia back behind him and shot a mixture of both the Stunning Spell and _Impedimenta_ at Prikk and his cronie.

Once they were both down, Cordelia hurried over to the small boy they had been picking on—a first year Hufflepuff by the name of Charlie Mumps—and helped him stand, still panting a little herself.

'It's okay, Charlie,' she said. 'Not all people at Hogwarts are like Thomas Prikk.'

Charlie sniffed. 'I h-hate Slytherin,' he said shakily.

'Oh, don't say that,' Cordelia told him calmly, 'They're not all bad. Come on, we'll take you back to your Common Room. I bet your friends are worried sick.'

James had hung back until this point, just watching the scene unfold. He observed the way Cordelia's hair fell over her face as she leaned down to help Charlie stand, her tender, comforting tone as she reassured him. She'd been jinxing Slytherins not five minutes before—she'd been practically _cuddling_ him not five minutes before—and yet now she was just hell-bent on making sure Charlie Mumps was all right.

'I-I didn't think you k-knew where Hufflepuff Common Room is,' said Charlie.

'Well, _I_ know because I have a few friends in Hufflepuff, but _James_ here is the one who knows where everything is.'

Charlie turned his gaze to James as they continued down the hallway. He looked as though he was thinking James seemed like the coolest person ever, when he turned to Cordelia and asked, 'Are you his girlfriend?'

James snorted, and answered for her. 'No, no, mate. We barely know each other. Doesn't mean _you_ can have her, though,' he warned as Charlie turned back to Cordelia.

She gave him a look like "_really_, James?" and chuckled slightly. They both thought he was joking.

* * *

_**September 3**_

* * *

'What are you looking at?' asked Fred, waving a hand in front of Barbara's face. She was jolted back to reality and raised her eyebrows at him.

'What?'

Fred followed where she had been gazing and found the Hufflepuff Prefect, some bloke who he knew as Clarke from the Quidditch team. Dark haired and blue-eyed; recently single. Slimy git. Fred reasoned that, no, he probably wasn't a slimy git, but if Barbara was even close to fancying him, then he definitely needed some investigating. It didn't really matter who Barbara fancied, though. In fifth year, she'd gone out with that Irish guy who now sang in some band that Fred wouldn't go near with a ten foot stick. That wasn't a very big deal.

'James is holding tryouts on the fifteenth night,' Fred said, pushing the thought out of his mind and grabbing a piece of toast from the table.

'Yeah, I know, I saw the notice,' Barbara replied. 'You've got nothing to worry about, though; you've been on the team for years.'

They were the only ones in the Great Hall yet, and that was because most of the other occupants of the school were out enjoying the good weather. Of course, it wasn't just the two of them—there was Clarke, and a few other Gryffindors. Some sketchy-looking Slytherins were sitting together in the corner, and a splash of Ravenclaw students were scattered around the table beside Fred's.

'What, and you don't think you have a chance?'

'I don't know. There're a lot of new people going to try out this year.'

'Yeah, and about six of them'll be Hufflepuffs.'

Barbara laughed at that, which Fred counted as a good thing. Why was he so jumpy all of a sudden? What was wrong with him? Fred pushed the thoughts from his mind as Louis maneuvered his way into the seat beside him, looking annoyed and cursing under his breath.

'What's the problem, Lou?'

Louis rolled his eyes. 'Bloody Slytherins, badmouthing Hagrid.'

'Did you tell them to snuff it?'

'Well, it was a bit more crude than that.'

Barbara looked appalled. 'Louis, we haven't been at school a full week yet—do you have to fight already?'

Louis threw a glance at Fred and smirked. 'So I take it you didn't get notified about what happened last night on the Prefect's rounds?'

'Last night was Cordelia and James,' said Barbara, 'What happened? I thought they were friends.'

Got a bit more than friendship on his mind, Barbs.

Louis replied, 'It wasn't them so much as Prikk and his mates bullying some poor little Hufflepuff.'

'What?' Barbara's wide eyes practically forced Louis to explain the details of the whole situation, what had happened, what spells had been fired; all Fred could concentrate on through this entire ordeal was the subtle changes in Barbara's face as time went on, how her eyebrows were raised, and how she had a few strands of hair falling down over her face and the fact that they would continue to stray there no matter many times she pulled them behind her ears.

'We should report them! To the professors!'

'Barbs—'

'...Ugh, fine. I know that look. But if this happens again, James and Cordelia have to tell someone. I'm surprised she didn't.'

'Surprised who didn't what?'

James's voice came from behind Fred and he turned around to see his tall, messy-haired cousin grinning down at him, holding a book that looked just about ready to be smacked upon the table. Since he had been expecting it, Fred didn't jump when James's copy of _A Recent Magical History_ hit the space beside him—Louis had moved, also anticipating—with an attention-gathering bang.

James plopped himself down, ignoring the stares he received—or perhaps, pretending to—and groaned, 'I don't see why I have to read this for History of Magic. Most of it's about my dad.'

Louis made a face that clearly indicated his agreement. 'Yeah, not much of a pleasure reading about our family's work for wizards in Britain, but at least you're not stuck on goblin rebellions,' he added.

Molly entered the Great Hall with Archie Myers, one of his hands draped around her shoulders. They seemed to be talking about something interesting, which Fred silently congratulated Archie on, because despite the fact he was in Ravenclaw, and therefore meant to be witty, Myers was a right bore.

Thankfully, Molly didn't do something disgusting and romantic, like kissing Myers goodbye, because it wasn't like he was going anywhere anyway, and Fred disliked it when couples were overly...well, couple-y. Or at least, he had, up until now.

* * *

'It's going to be crowded when we get there,' said Scorpius, straightening out his shirt and buttoning the top three buttons. They were in the deserted third floor corridor, and Rose knew that they should have been more careful, because being wound around each other out in the open was, obviously, rather conspicuous. If someone had seen...But they hadn't. No one had come. They were all on their way to the Great Hall for lunch, which was exactly where she and Scorpius were headed now.

Rubbing her mouth, Rose said, 'Perhaps we should separate at the end of the corridor.'

Scorpius nodded in agreement and Rose took the opportunity to investigate him. Not silly checking out, proper investigating—taking in every detail, from the way his hair stuck up ever so slightly at the back, to the precise blue-green-grey color of his eyes, his collar bones and shoulders. She had kissed those lips. They were hers.

But were they? If they were properly hers, she wouldn't have to hide their relationship in empty corridors and broom cupboards. She'd been lucky her cousins hadn't caught her yet; she knew they had the Marauder's Map. In fact, why hadn't she stolen it like she had the past couple of times? If James couldn't find it, he couldn't catch them. But Rose had always been above theft, and she knew James would bust a nut if he thought someone else had it in their possession. Why was she having these stupid thoughts? About Scorpius and her ever being able to be open about their relationship. They were dangerous thoughts. Her father would throw her out. His would, too. The prejudice had ended with the war, but neither family were friendly.

Pushing the thought from her mind, she nodded a polite 'goodbye' to Scorpius and made her way down the opposite set of stairs.

* * *

'Please don't tell me you were coming from the library,' Patricia moaned, when Scorpius finally appeared, coming down the stairs. Almost everyone was in the Great Hall now. She wasn't sure why she'd waited; Ruby would have provided good lunch-time conversation, so Scorpius wasn't a necessity. For whatever reason, she had hung back to seek out his company instead.

'I wasn't.'

'Weren't peeping in on Shelley Corner and Goyle's boyfriend's forbidden love affair, were you?'

Scorpius rolled his eyes. 'Keep your voice down—I know I shouldn't have told you about that. And, for your information, I was asking Cordelia about when our Prefects' rounds begin.'

Patricia raised her eyebrows speculatively. 'Then why did she arrive ten minutes ago, with Lorcan and Albus?'

His face didn't register shock, but then again, Scorpius was a good actor. Why did she feel like he was lying to her?

'I couldn't find her,' he said. 'Anyway, I managed to get my hands on a copy of the schedule and we're in a couple of weeks, so nothing to worry about.'

They walked together into the Great Hall, which was loud with students chattering and the clanging of utensils against plates. Taking seats at the Slytherin table, Patricia noticed the side of Scorpius's collar was upturned. It would have been a fashion statement, was the other side not folded down as it should have been. She reached over and tucked it in.

'Did you get in a scrap with that troll again?' she joked. 'Kathryn, was her name?'

'Yeah, yeah. That's her name,' Scorpius said, picking up a piece of baked potato and setting it down on his plate. 'But no, I've managed to avoid that cow since the last time.'

"The last time" that Scorpius mentioned involved the previous year's Yule Ball, which had become more of an occasion since the Potter-Weasley crowd came to Hogwarts. Slughorn had seen so many students he wished to have in his 'Slug Club', and instead he had just made it an event that students could go to if they wanted to. However, there were minor problems with the first and second years and they had since been banned unless asked by an older student. But, Patricia thought, that was a little seedy. Eleven- and twelve-year-olds being asked to a dance by thirteen-year-olds and up.

That wasn't the point. Scorpius and Patricia had gone together, as usual, because he didn't want to go with any of the girls who had asked him; his best friend made things less complicated. That was what he'd told her and anyone else who had asked them whether they were "finally going out". Kathryn was a fellow Slytherin who neither of them particularly liked, and so tried to avoid at a wide berth. She had come up to them, affronted that Scorpius had rejected her.

'You know,' she had said, 'I wouldn't have asked you if I'd known you were just going to go with her again!'

Her wide, pale face was pouting, and her polished nails sat like claws on her hips, where her hands were rested. Heavily-shadowed eyes zeroed in on Scorpius's face, a few inches above her own. She seemed to be trying her best to look both angry and sensual, so maybe he would change his mind.

'Well, it wouldn't have made much difference, to be honest,' Scorpius had replied, raising a hand apologetically. Kathryn slapped it down, stepping closer.

'I've got dirt on you, Scorpius Malfoy—your rep isn't as squeaky clean as everyone thinks!' She glared at them both. 'I didn't want to do this, but if you're going to pass up the opportunity to keep your secrets under wraps, I don't have a choice. You could have danced with me. You could have been nice. Instead you act like a jerk, just like that prick from Beauxbatons!'

Patricia had rolled her eyes at this: Kathryn was always going on about this boy from Beauxbatons that she fancied, who hadn't returned the feelings. His name was Louis, like the Weasley, but of no relation. She said she had loved him, but he had spurned her feelings after taking her out for the most beautiful night of her life. It had been all she talked about for the entirety of fourth year; the dormitories had been a nightmare.

'But fine, if you want your secrets out, then don't pay me any attention! Not like it matters—you've always got her'—she tilted her head towards Patricia, and her precariously styled her came loose, strands of it falling over her left ear—'to play about with, I suppose!'

Without letting her finish, Scorpius lunged at Kathryn, streaming profanity, and grabbing her flimsy sleeve. 'You say anything about her again,' he threatened, expression dark, 'then I'll make damn sure that the worst things you've heard about me don't compare to what happens to you. Don't forget my family history; no matter whether I think it's bollocks or not. I know what I'm talking about.'

He let go of her sleeve, and moved back to put an arm around Patricia, pulling her across the hall, away from the now-annoyed-looking Kathryn.

Patricia returned to proper, human, current time and turned to Scorpius again. He was finishing up the little baked potato, and there were tiny remnants still on his plate. Washing it down with some water, his eyes returned to her.

'What?' he asked, when he found her watching him. 'Have I got something on my face?'

'No, no—of course not,' Patricia assured him. 'It's just...I was remembering last Yule Ball.'

'Trust me to bring up the troll again, then. You probably think I'm a complete tosspot.'

Patricia laughed, and allowed herself to take another couple of pieces of roasted vegetables. She had already devoured the ones she had on her plate—or, rather, in her stomach.

'No, not really. It just provided some good entertainment, that's all.'

* * *

'Guess who I caught in the Charms corridor!' Melissa sang, plopping down beside Rose at Gryffindor table and looking alarmed when her friend almost swallowed the goblet along with her pumpkin juice.

'W-who?' Rose spluttered.

'Shelley Corner and—you won't believe this!—_Devon Henry_!'

Melissa bit her lip, waiting for a reaction that didn't come straight away. Rose's first instinct was to be surprised because Shelley Corner is such a cow that she really thinks she can juggle sleeping around with two guys at once, on the _third day of the year_. But at the same time, she was worried; if Shelley and Devon were getting caught in the Charms corridor, what about she and Scorpius?

'Are you serious?' she asked, to which Melissa nodded. 'Wait—you say you caught them, and what do you mean by that? "Caught"-caught, as in walking in on them going at it, or "caught" as in saw them together looking rightly suspicious?'

"Caught"-caught,' Melissa confirmed.

'Then shouldn't you tell Lottie? I mean, didn't she used to have a bit of a thing for Devon Henry?'

'Devon Henry is a disgusting boy with no taste,' came Lottie's high voice from behind them. She sat down beside Rose, tucking her skirt in around her and saying, 'besides, we're sixth years. We can't get caught up on the same old stupid men.'

'I don't think "old" is the problem, Lots,' Melissa said sadly.

Liz hurried into the Great Hall, carrying a small collection of Charms books with her. 'You lot are turning into the Old Maid's Club for Gossip Mongers,' she told the three of them once the girls had finished briefing her on the scandals of the day. 'It's not been four days and I'm not even sure I can stand any of you.'

'Thanks for the reassurance, Liz,' Melissa stated in sarcasm before standing up to leave. 'And I know I've not eaten anything, but I don't think I'm hungry—best go and ask Professor Longbottom about who's commentating Quidditch matches before Liz's starts hating me for delivering the most interesting story the school's got on press at the moment.'

Liz rolled her eyes and moved the stack of books she had brought over to the left so that she could better reach the mashed potatoes. Rose wondered if, just perhaps, she should tell Lottie or Liz about seeing Shelley with Caladora Goyle's boyfriend. In fact, she wondered what had gotten into her and when she starting caring about this type of thing in the first place. If things kept up like this, her N.E.W.T.s would probably look like dungbombs compared to her O.W.L.s. Rose partially blamed Scorpius.

Though she rightfully blamed herself.

* * *

_(The rest of) **September 3 and 4**_

The rest of the weekend—though thoroughly enjoyed by students, who were still unaccustomed to working after almost three months of holidays—passed by rather quickly and in a rather mundane manner. Nothing changed.

James continued pursuing Cordelia, who continued to remain completely oblivious; Scorpius continued to sneak about to see Rose, who continued to lie to her family about where she was going and "no, James, I haven't seen the Marauder's Map. Perhaps it's somewhere in your dorm? Molly continued to date Archie Myers and the rest of Hogwarts continued to live their lives as they had before, just with a lot less homework.

But the calm period would not last.


	4. Citrus and Honeyduke's Sweet Shop

**Disclaimer: **I—regretfully—have no ownership over the world in which these characters live. If I did, one of them would be married to me because of perfection.

* * *

**Chapter Four:**

"**Citrus and Honeyduke's Sweet Shop"**

**Or**

"**Extreme Makeover: Tart Edition"**

* * *

_**September 5**_

* * *

Cordelia Gilbert was nearly impossible to miss. The fact that they were both on their way to Potions probably made it easier for Albus to spot her, but that had nothing to do with it. He could always tell when she was in a room, and not necessarily by watching James. His brother was good enough of an actor to hide things like that, even though he didn't really have to.

'We seem to have a habit of running into each other,' Albus said quietly, just loud enough for Cordelia—who was now beside him—to hear. She smiled.

'Well, it's either we call it that, or we say that we both have impeccable taste in elective courses,' she replied.

Cordelia Gilbert smelled like citrus and Honeyduke's Sweet Shop on a busy weekend. Her hair, light brown like her younger brother Mitchell's, curled slightly at the ends, where it spilled over her shoulders, half-way to her elbows. She turned around and it was like the whole world was moving in slow motion, which Albus knew it couldn't have been, because that was impossible, and when she walked over to a table to wait for Professor Slughorn's instructions, Albus followed her, because that was the only thing that he could bring his mind to do.

The Draught of Living Death, which Slughorn made a mad attempt at explaining to the class once everyone had arrived, was going to be the main focus over the next few lessons.

Rose, who was sitting at the back of the room, was sneaking covert glances at Scorpius Malfoy which Albus noticed; he wondered what Scorpius had managed to do wrong. Though he and Scorpius remained on good enough terms, Rose—having been raised by Uncle Ron, no matter what non-prejudice Aunt Hermione had tried to instill in her children—did not see the decency. Albus didn't know much about girls and how their minds worked, but there always seemed to be something attractive about the forbidden factor, which would definitely explain Rose's continued glances at Scorpius. He wasn't bad looking, Albus supposed.

'So,' Cordelia began, and Albus snapped to attention beside her, 'what's going with the Potter-Weasley clan?'

_Well, Molly's dating Archie Myers, James is determined to get you for a snog, but that's pretty much it so far._ 'Surprisingly,' Albus said, 'not much.'

'A welcome change, then,' remarked Cordelia, glancing into her cauldron as if contemplating the addition of the Valerian roots, because of the elementary stage of the potion, and then deciding to add them anyway. She set about trying to juice the sopophorous bean, at which she was unsuccessful but trying to hide the fact, before adding, 'I'm surprised James hasn't been found snogging some Hufflepuff in a water-closet yet.'

'Nah,' Albus said, 'he usually does that during Prefect's watches; you're with him this week, if you were anyone else, you'd know all about it.'

Cordelia chuckled. 'Please, I'm not interested in having some quick stint behind a statue and then forgetting all about it.'

_Which is why you and James would never work_. Cordelia was still having difficulty with the juicing of the sopophorous bean, but Albus's father had taught him a trick or two about Potions. It had helped him before. 'Try crushing it with the flat side of the blade,' he offered, pointing at the bean.

'Are you sure?'

'If it doesn't work, you can have mine.'

Cordelia followed his advice, which did—of course—work. 'How did you know to do that?'

'I have my sources.'

Her face held an expression as if to say "not bad". Albus returned his eyes to his potion, inspecting its progress and juicing his own sopophorous bean. When he was finally beginning to get focused, which he really should have been for a longer period of time, there was a light tap on his shoulder. The two perfectly manicured fingers that had caught his attention were attached to the arm of none other than Shelley Corner, whose dark hair was in a braid today, snaking over her shoulder and coming to a stop at a point parallel to her ribcage. Her eyes, focused on Albus's own, were lined with a bright shade of blue-green that made him feel both hypnotized and a little nauseous. She probably would have been quite pretty, if it weren't for her reputation and the fact that James had already been there.

'Do you need something?' Albus asked.

'Yeah—I was actually wondering if you had any clue how to do this,' she said. 'I wasn't really listening.'

'I don't want to interrupt,' Cordelia said, doing so anyway, 'but if you had bothered to open your book you would see on the page of Contents that the instructions for the Draught of Living Death can be found between pages thirteen and twenty-four.'

Shelley's large, decorated eyes narrowed, and she opened her book as though with the intent of having it murdered. But she did say, 'thank you, Cordelia,' even if her voice sounded constricted and terse.

* * *

At about eight that evening, four of the five seventh-year occupants of the Gryffindor boys' dormitories were holed up together in said dormitory, planning their next phase of action. It wasn't really that they were planning so much as James, Fred, and Christopher Wood going over ideas for Quidditch try-outs and the remaining Quentin Embry half-listening and half-trying to get started on whatever homework it was he needed to do before their final member—Felix Thomas—arrived.

'Judging by our odds,' James was saying, 'we've got at least four of our key players still here—we'll need good luck to get someone to cover for Dominique, but we should be able to do it.'

'Hey,' Wood reasoned, 'if we can bounce back from losing Teddy Lupin, this shouldn't be too difficult.'

Fred was about to add his viewpoint to the conversation when Felix burst into the room, heavy-breathed and shocked. 'Shelley Corner,' he panted, leaning against the doorframe, 'is seeing...Devon Henry.'

James raised an eyebrow. 'And after snogging me, I'd have thought the bird had taste,' he said disdainfully.

'Nah, mate,' Felix said, still out of breath. Clearly, he had been running to distribute this information. 'You don't get it—she's not just seeing Devon Henry.'

'What are you on about?' Quentin demanded, standing from his place on his four-poster and coming over to get more information. He leaned on the left end-post of Wood's bed and watched Felix, as the rest of the boys did.

'She—she's been caught out with Prikk, though!' Felix explained, revealing the punch-line of the tale, and why it was of so much scandal.

'Wait,' Fred said, 'you mean Prikk as in the one who's...'

'Who's meant to be going out with that Goyle bird?' Wood finished.

'Yeah! Exactly!' The boy in the doorway cried, raising his arms and gesturing that they'd finally got it. 'There's been a massive duel in the entrance hall! Goyle apparently found out from somewhere and then she went to have a go at Shelley, but then once they got going, Prikk showed up—Goyle started attacking him, screeching about "infidelity" and "meaningful"—and just when everyone thought it couldn't get any worse, Devon Henry comes out to investigate! The four of them were just mad—I think Henry's got tentacles sprouting out of his ears! And...and Goyle's got these great, big pustules on her face—Shelley managed to get out of it practically unharmed, but y'know—she's got her come-uppance.'

The first one to process this information fast enough to say anything was James, who said, 'well, that's what she gets for being a tart.'

'Now everyone knows how indecent she is,' Quentin put in.

Wood sat back down on his bed. 'I don't know, though. Knowing Shelley, she's bound to make herself sound like the victim, even if it's her fault. She'll probably say something like "Prikk came on to me, and I couldn't stop him!" or—or I don't know—but I wouldn't count her out of this.'

'You make her sound like a coldhearted instigator.'

'Where have you been the last six years? She _is_ a coldhearted instigator.'

'As cold as her heart may be,' began Quentin, 'doesn't distract from the fact that her body is the exact opposite.'

'And you would know this how, Embry?' Fred asked, turning around to face the boy who—up until now—he had thought rather decent.

'James isn't the only Gryffindor she's snogged,' Quentin said, implication heavy.

Of course not. Leave it to Shelley Corner to get in with two guys of the same dormitory.

* * *

_**September 6**_

* * *

Everyone knew that Caladora Goyle had had her boyfriend stolen by Shelley Corner—just as Tracey McLaggen had—and that the nonsensical Ravenclaw had managed to balance this theft with secret rendezvousing to get acquainted with Devon Henry, another member of her house. And everyone also knew that, at Hogwarts, if you weren't being murdered by the Dark Arts, unearthing secrets that were thought to be myth, or otherwise putting yourself in lethal danger, you were probably involved in some sort of love triangle. That was just how the school operated.

The fact that all of this drama had ensued within a week proved its caliber, and the realism of the theory. It was now the third day of school and the corridors were humming with talks of "Oh, I heard Shelley Corner did this with this person" which happened enough before the whole dilemma of the GoylePrikkHenryCorner showdown.

But for once, the talks did not include the topic of the Weasleys, and for that, the family was grateful. Especially so, was Molly. In the flurry of people spreading the news that Shelley's scandal had occurred, no one had bothered to pass judgment on the fact that Molly Weasley was going out with Archie Myers, and therefore—having avoided what was basically "tabloid news"—both Molly and Archie were quite pleased.

Even if no one in her family understood why someone as fun as Molly wanted to have anything to do with someone as dense and flat-faced as Archie Myers, let alone snog him.

'I still don't know what you see in him,' said Lucy, Molly's younger sister, as the two of them climbed out of the portrait hole—the entrance to Gryffindor tower—on the way down to breakfast.

'You just don't know him, Lucy.'

'I don't have to know him to know that he's as interesting as soggy swim trunks once they start getting itchy after you leave the beach.'

'You and your analogies, Lucy.'

'Why do you keep finishing your sentences with "Lucy"?'

'I don't know, _Lucy_,' Molly said tiredly.

'And the thing is,' Lucy began, quite awake in contrast to her sister, 'even if this Archie bloke's not as dense as he sounds—which I'm not conceding—he's making you so _boring_! When you didn't have a boyfriend, you were so much cooler; you and James and Fred and Jess'—Jess was another girl in Molly's year who, though they weren't the best of friends, was always eager to chime in on a prank or two—'used to do the craziest of things. You guys were basically the Marauders incarnate.'

Molly gave her an expectant look and Lucy added, having been taught this by James, 'I'm sorry. You guys were basically the Marauders incarnate _minus Peter because even though he was still a Marauder he was a right scumbag and a twat because of what he did with Voldemort and for all intents and purposes he currently doesn't count_. Happy now?'

'Much more.'

For a moment, they walked together in silence, letting the staircase below them move to a location that pleased it greatly, and then Elena Finnigan rounded the corner, noticed Molly, and cried, 'Good Lord, Molly—did you hear about—'

'—Shelley Corner and the others?'

Elena stopped bluntly. 'Oh, so you did hear, then?'

'Yeah.'

'No point in telling you that she's a complete slu...' Elena faded off as she noticed Lucy, who just laughed.

'I'm fourteen, you can say "slut",' she said.

Elena looked at Molly for confirmation on this, but Molly just nodded for her friend to continue. 'I mean, it's the third bloody day of school—like, doesn't she even have the decency to wait a week before she starts slagging off? No, apparently not. And, to think, I might have even been a bit better with it if she had any taste at all. I mean, really, anyone can do better than Thomas Prikk—except maybe Caladora Goyle, but they were going out, which makes me even more angry because this Shelley girl has no respect for anyone, not even us seventh years because come on she's sixteen—'

Molly's voice cut across her friend. 'You talk too much, too early, Elena. We were just going down to breakfast.'

'Sorry, it's just...this whole thing's got me really hyped up.'

They were going their separate ways when Lucy, who had overheard her cousin's conversation as the girl and her friends passed Lucy's dorm, told Elena, 'if you want to talk about it, you should find Rose and her friends. Apparently they knew about it before the rest of us.'

'Oh, okay. Thanks, Lucy.'

As she continued with her sister down the corridor, and then down a few flights of stairs to the Great Hall, Lucy couldn't help but wonder what else Rose's friends knew—or how soon they were going to be unearthed. This was Hogwarts. It would only take so long.

* * *

'Okay, girls,' the brunette began, pacing up and down the dormitory in her pale blue pajamas. The other girls looked at her, some puzzled, some as though they wanted to know why Shelley Corner had called this late-night meeting of the sixth year Ravenclaw girls. 'Desperate times call for desperate measures.'

Cordelia wasn't entirely sure what these "desperate times" were, apart from the fact that Shelley had gone and snogged the wrong blokes at the same time and now most of the school had labeled her a tart within the first week of school, but she stayed quiet and listened nonetheless. She didn't really like Shelley that much, but there was always the benefit of the doubt, and for the moment, that was all Cordelia could give the girl.

'As you know,' Shelley said, still pacing, 'I've made a bit of an old wives' tale of myself. I have become the girl that mothers warn their daughters about becoming, and while I used to reward myself on at least having good taste, I can't even say that any more.'

Well, she was right about that. Shelley's taste went out the window with Thomas Prikk.

'I'm sorry, Shelley,' said Bridget Davies, from whose brother Cordelia had received Quidditch captaincy, 'but what—exactly—do _we_ have to do with this?'

'Oh, don't apologize, Bridget—you've _everything_ to do with this. You girls are going to help me.'

Another girl, the reserved, endearingly conscientious Sarah Boot, asked, 'help you do what? Rebuild the reputation as an innocent, demure girl—the one you lost after about...half-way through second year?'

Shelley's warm smile faltered slightly, but then she recovered and replied lightly, 'yes. Exactly. Well, perhaps not _exactly_,' she added hastily, even herself knowing that that kind of social salvation would be impossible, 'but I'd like to at least get some kind of respect back. If I can.'

In a way, Cordelia admired what Shelley was trying to do. She resolved to help her as best she could, even though Shelley had—on many an occasion—got a boy Cordelia fancied, or annoyed her to no end about what the lads on the Quidditch team looked like shirtless. This was probably pointless, because Shelley had gone out with at least three quarters of them, but it annoyed Cordelia all the same.

'Well,' Bridget said robustly, standing up from her bed and making her way over to Shelley. 'We're going to have to start by getting rid of some of _this_.'

On the last word, Bridget plucked one of Shelley's racier laced shirts from its place on her dressing-table and held it up for the other girls to see.

'I like that shirt—_sorry_,' Shelley amended, and then said quietly to herself, 'this is _sacrifice_, Shelley. Sacrifice for the sake of progress.'

Bridget then invited the other girls: Cordelia, Sarah, and the frequently-quiet-and-overlooked Tabitha Perkins, who had remained silent the entire time Shelley had been discussing her plans, to take their pick of items in Shelley's suitcase that were simply not going to do, if she was going to clean up her act.

With just less than half of her clothing strewn across the room, Shelley took a seat on her four-poster. Occasionally, Tabitha or Sarah would look up and ask if a certain shirt was adequate, and which point the girls had to be lenient. If she was forced to get rid of too many items of clothing, Shelley would be left with nothing.

'And, really, the change can't be too sudden. It'll look fake,' Cordelia reasoned. 'It should be a gradual process, otherwise this won't work at all.'

'Sadly,' Sarah said, pausing in the process of extracting a parakeet-coloured tube top, 'I'm going to have to agree with you—even if that top is ridiculous,' she added, setting it back in the suitcase.

'Does anyone have the time, by the way?' asked Cordelia. She couldn't be late for watches with James. He really wasn't too bad a guy—he hadn't been involved in the snogging incident, for one.

Tabitha checked her watch and pronounced it "eight-fifty-five".

'Well, I'm off,' Cordelia said with a bit of a sigh, flattening the scrunches of her jeans from sitting on the floor. 'James'll be waiting for me any minute now.'

'When you say it like that, it sounds like you're dating him.'

'Which, I might add,' Shelley put in, 'would not be a bad thing. He's a truly _fantastic _kisser.'

Cordelia scrunched up her nose. 'I really didn't need that mental image, thanks, Shelley.'

She closed the door as Shelley began to exclaim, 'what? It's _true_!'

As Cordelia had thought, James was waiting outside the common room for her. He already had the Marauder's Map in his hands, and was just folding it when she emerged from the entrance to Ravenclaw tower. Now that she thought about it, he probably could've been watching her on the map, waiting for the little pair of feet labeled '_Cordelia Gilbert_' to make their way from the sixth year dormitories to where the '_James Potter II_' ones sat—or, rather—stood.

'So,' he said. 'I've got the butterbeer and everything up in Head's Office. Let's do this.'

'Got the whole thing planned out, haven't you, James?' she remarked.

'You wouldn't believe me if I told you.'

* * *

'I saw you.'

Liz's eyes were on Rose's back. She could feel them burning into her even though she hadn't turned around.

'Saw me what, exactly?'

Rose asked this even though she knew the answer. There was only one possible thing Liz could have seen that would make her say such a thing. Though stubborn, Liz Pembridge was tolerant.

Until you betrayed her trust.

'I saw you with _Malfoy_, Rose,' Liz clarified. The malice in her voice emanated so strongly that Rose felt forced to turn around and face her. Thankfully, they were the only ones in the dormitory.

'It's not what you—'

'_No_, _Rose_! It's _exactly_ what I think! You're judging Shelley Corner on morals while running off to have a quickie with Scorpius _sodding _Malfoy in your bloody free time!'

'Liz, I—'

'_No_. Don't try to interrupt me, and _don't_ tell me to bloody well listen—listen my arse. You're snogging Malfoy, who your family damn well _hates_ and being an absolute secretive cow about it, and now you don't want me to...' Liz, red-faced with nostrils flaring, could not seem to phrase her anger coherently. She breathed out in an irate huff. 'Just...'

'Look,' Rose said calmly, 'I know you don't get it. I know me kissing Scorpius is stupid to you. I know it's stupid to pretty much everyone on the planet, with the exception of me. And I know it's bad enough for me to ask anything of you at the moment...but just please, _please_ don't tell anyone.'

'You want me to Liz exhaled shortly. 'Fine. I won't tell anyone. But not for your sake, and not for his. I'll keep this quiet for the sake of your _family_, who do not deserve this shit.'

There was a moment of quiet before Liz continued. 'And I know that I don't get it, but if you don't mind, for the duration of this lie, I don't want to speak to you.'

Rose had expected it: she had expected more than it, but the blow still struck her. She nodded. 'I understand.'

'Because if you're lying about this,' Liz said quietly. 'What else could you be lying about?'

This struck Rose as the sort of question that she wasn't supposed to answer, even though the answer was a flat out "no". She couldn't stress Liz's limits. This was dangerous. Someone had already found out—if Liz had, who else could have done? If this was going to continue, which Rose knew was a horrible thought to have after the altercation that had occurred not thirty seconds ago, she and Scorpius were going to have to be increasingly careful.

When the other girls entered—only Lottie and Melissa, for the selection of Gryffindor girls in sixth year was limited to them—they found Liz tucked into her covers, a book resting on her stomach, and an unmistakable wall of tension risen between she and Rose, who was sitting in the bed beside, looking equally as put out, and slightly guilty.

Thankfully, Lottie and Melissa both had the sense not to ask what had happened, just to climb into bed and hope it didn't last.

But Rose knew it would.

* * *

_**September 7**_

* * *

'Tennant—Barbara! Hey!'

The Head Girl pulled to a stop half way down the stairs and allowed the person calling her—in this case, it was Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain, Miles Clarke. Tall, debonair, with tousled hair that fell over his startlingly blue eyes. Needless to say, he made Barbara a little weak at the knees.

'Miles, to what do I owe the pleasure?'

'The pleasure's all mine,' Miles contradicted. He straightened up and asked, 'When's this year's first trip to Hogsmeade?'

Barbara paused. Trying to remember a date while an attractive person is watching can prove rather difficult. 'September 17th, I believe...why?'

'I was going to ask a girl if she wanted to go with me,' Miles answered, 'but...'

'But...?' Barbara pressed.

'I've heard things about the Head Girl being pretty hard to get.'

Feeling as though her heart was about to burst through her chest, Barbara replied, 'well, _I've_ heard things about her giving decent people a chance.'

'Am I decent?'

'Oh, I think you'll do.'

Miles grinned. 'So that's a "yes"?'

'Do you want it in writing?'

With another dashing smile, Miles hurried off to find his friends. A moment later, Barbara was joined by Fred, who had obviously seen Miles and Barbara conversing, and for some reason, looked very disgruntled.

'What'd he want?' The tanned boy asked.

'Oh—nothing. Just asking about the closest-coming Hogsmeade visit.' Barbara allowed that to register for a moment before adding, 'He asked me if I'd go with him, actually.'

'You didn't say _yes_, did you?'

'Well, why wouldn't I?' Barbara inquired, a little impatient and a lot unsure.

'Well...he's a Hufflepuff—the _Captain_ of the Hufflepuff team...and—'

'Honestly, Fred,' Barbara interrupted, cutting across him, 'not everything is about Quidditch.'

Fred was quiet for a second, as if regrouping with a different argument. As it turned out, he was.

'You know that when James finds out about this—you and Clarke, that is—he won't want you on the team.'

Barbara raised her eyebrows. 'Why is that any of James's business—who I date? Just because I go out with a _Hufflepuff_—'

'—The _King Puff_,' Fred interjected in an undertone.

'—does _not_ mean I'm going to be any less committed to the Gryffindor Quidditch team,' Barbara snapped. 'Now, I don't know what your problem is, but _if_ you'll excuse me, I'm going to go to Ancient Runes.'

* * *

More than a few people were surprised when Shelley Corner showed up to lunch in a shirt that was only cut to two inches below her collar bones, with a cardigan draped over top. She wasn't showing any skin—even her feet were covered up—and the most form-fitting part of her outfit was the pair of skinny jeans.

'I think the plan's working,' Shelley muttered, taking a seat beside Cordelia, who shuffled over to give her some room.

'That's good,' Cordelia replied, for she could not think of anything else to say.

Shelley poured herself some pumpkin juice and took a sip before setting it down beside her empty plate and inspecting the rest of the Great Hall. There were more than a few people staring at her, ranging from first year Hufflepuffs to the Slytherin Quidditch Team—and Thomas Prikk, whose eye Shelley refused to meet. She still couldn't believe she'd had the delusion to snog someone like that. Some_thing_ like that.

But someone at the Gryffindor table caught her eye—the all-too-familiar messy dark hair, the devilishly attractive bone structure: James Potter was looking over at her.

It wasn't so much looking as stealing covert glances and it wasn't so much "stealing covert glances at _her_" because the angle was slightly off for that. No. James was looking at someone to her right, but not far off.

Cordelia Gilbert wasn't bad looking. And she was good at Quidditch. And she had Prefect's watches with James Potter.

And suddenly Shelley had one of those moments wherein she realized she was _meant_ to be in Ravenclaw.

'James is looking at you.'

Cordelia's eyes shifted from her lunch to the Gryffindor table. She shook her head. 'James is looking at his sister. Beside him. Lily,' she said. 'He's glaring at her, actually.'

'Wonder why,' Shelley pondered.

There was a scuffle of feet and both girls turned around. Cordelia's younger brother Mitchell was standing a foot away, on the verge of blurting something out but trying his best not to. Cordelia seemed to notice this as well.

'What is it, Mitch?'

He opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure of where to begin. 'I was going to Potions the other day,' he began slowly, 'and this girl with red hair...I think her name was Lily—yes, Lily Potter—came up to me told _me_ to tell _you_ that James fancies you like mad.'

Mitchell paused before asking, 'did she mean James _Potter_?'

Shelley, taking in Cordelia's confused expression and watching as it became extremely defiant, caught Mitchell's attention and told him'Yes. James Potter fancies your sister. But she simply won't believe m—_ow_, _Cordelia_! _Merlin's Beard_!'

Cordelia had, in a moment of hysteria, crushed Shelley's foot with her own. While the dark-haired girl nursed her throbbing toes, Cordelia turned back to her brother, whose eyes were now going from his sister to Shelley to his sister to Shelley and looking slightly distrustful.

'_Does_ James Potter fancy you, then?' He asked quietly.

_God_, Shelley thought, _this kid has got to be the most decent brother in all of Britain_.

'No,' said Cordelia. 'Of course not. Why would he?—_Rhetorical_!' she cried as Shelley opened her mouth to give an answer.

'So he _doesn't_,' Mitchell clarified.

'No,' his sister repeated. 'James Potter does not fancy me.'

'_That you know of_!' Shelley cried, earning herself an elbow in the ribs.

Cordelia Gilbert was a violent woman.


	5. Just Two People

**Disclaimer: **These brilliant characters did not leap from my imagination. (Well, some of them did, but J.K. Rowling has the rights to a majority.)

**Warning:** I wouldn't have one of these if it weren't to say that things in this chapter were emotional for me to write, and therefore will—hopefully—induce emotions in you, dear Reader, as you do so.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

"**Just two people."**

**Or**

"**The Coolest Fourteen-Year-Old I Know".**

* * *

_**September 8**_

* * *

Upon finding out that one of Rose's friends had caught them, Scorpius hadn't cursed her or broken a piece of furniture. He had said a fair few swear words, but apart from that, Rose thought he was taking the news rather well.

'Okay,' Scorpius said, trying to keep his voice leveled, 'so you're telling me that one of your friends _knows _about this? What do you plan to do—Rose—if Pembridge runs her mouth off? Agrippa, I'd have half the bloody wizard world after me—'

'—Is that a stab at my family's mass?' Rose interjected.

'Maybe, but that's not the most important thing at the moment,' Scorpius snapped, his calm façade slowly shattering. He paced around the desolate classroom. They were somewhere on the fifth floor. They hadn't returned to the Charms corridor since Melissa caught Shelley Corner and Devon Henry with their tongues down each others' throats—this description, Rose decided, made them sound like animals. But it wasn't like she was much better.

'How could we let ourselves _do_ this?'

Rose took a deep breath. 'I know the worst thing to say right now would be "calm down", but—'

'—But you're going to say it anyway?'

She smiled. 'I was,' she admitted, 'but I think I know of something that might calm you down a little better.'

Scorpius was confused enough for Rose to edge her way over to him, place her arms around his neck, and press her lips to his. At first, he was hesitant. For a moment—one, sweet moment of bliss—he responded favorably. But then he pulled away.

'What in the name of Merlin's-great-aunt-twice-removed-with-half-a-mustache-under-her-nose was _that_?'

Rose moistened her lips. 'I don't know. I thought it would help. But I'm more interested, right now, in hearing about Merlin's great aunt twice removed, and her mustache.'

While he probably would have laughed under normal circumstances, Scorpius only looked annoyed now. It made Rose feel both irritated and inadequate, even though she probably shouldn't have. It wasn't as though these angry words had any weight—nothing in their relationship had any weight: that was the point of it. She shouldn't have told him about Liz.

'Look,' Rose said, trying to make amends, 'I know that it was stupid and careless to let Liz find out. It wasn't _just_ my fault—oh, stop looking at me like that, you know it's true—but in case you haven't noticed, she and I aren't speaking. She's incredibly angry with me. She told me to stop seeing you or she would tell my cousins. Neither of us need that.'

'Then why _don't_ we stop seeing each other?' Scorpius questioned, crossing his arms and achieving the perfect Malfoy scowl.

Rose was silent for a moment. It was only a week into the school year and the most worthwhile thing she had ever rebelled to do in her life was about to come to an end. She couldn't let go. She couldn't let go of the relationship, and she couldn't let go of Scorpius. Rose was stuck "between a rock and a hard place" as her Muggle grandfather would have said. Right now, she couldn't agree more.

* * *

'I see you and Shelley are getting along a lot better,' Albus said, sliding into his seat beside Cordelia. She did not reply immediately, instead taking the time to dip her quill into the ink well.

'Superficially.'

'So, she's still a cow?'

Cordelia looked contemplative. 'Trying not to be—a cow—but she's still_ Shelley_,' she told him; she did not look his way as she said this, in favour of coping down what Professor Dryden had spelled out with his wand.

Albus did the same. Though Arithmancy was interesting, his mind wasn't exactly on it at the moment. His week of Prefect's watches began on Friday, making tomorrow night James's last chance to make something happen with Cordelia. Well, his last chance while they were completely _alone_. He trusted that nothing had happened already—James would probably have been singing about it if it had—but he didn't exactly want to ask Cordelia, "Have you snogged my brother?" because that didn't seem polite, and he really didn't want to know the answer. Albus thought this while hoping it was "no".

'May I ask why she's dressing—'

'—less like a tart?'

'—I was going to say "respectably", but that works, too.'

Cordelia chuckled. Professor Dryden set them the task of identifying exactly the importance of the number 13: why Muggles believe it so unlucky, magical properties of it; Albus and Cordelia had just begun to compile a list when she noticed, 'Why is it that we always seem to get the conversation to Shelley Corner in this class?'

'...Because great mates always need someone who isn't so great?' Albus suggested in an attempt to reason. Cordelia grinned.

'So we're "great mates", then—you and I?'

Albus grinned back. 'I was going to say "thick as thieves" but for the moment, "thick as Prikk"'—Cordelia laughed at this—'seems more relevant.'

'Is it just a thing? Do all Potters have to be fantastic?'

'It's in the genes,' Albus replied; flattered by the comment, but not showing it. He liked Cordelia—she wasn't ditzy or snobby or anything that Ravenclaw girls (despite their intelligence) were labeled. She was real. She was Cordelia.

And Albus could certainly see why James would fancy her.

'Al.'

Rose's voice came from behind them, and Albus turned around to see what it was his cousin wanted. She had finished her work—her partner being a Hufflepuff Albus hadn't spoken to since about fourth year—and was now looking at him as though there was something that she wanted to say, but wasn't sure how to get out.

'Can I talk to you after class?'

Albus nodded; he was more than a bit curious about what could possibly be making Rose so nervous. She was usually bold, honest, but now he wasn't quite sure.

* * *

The rest of their classmates filed out and moved on to their next place of choice, Albus and Rose lagging somewhat behind. Neither of them had anywhere they needed to go—Albus still didn't know know why Rose wanted to speak to him, and why she was acting so furtively—and so they reached the end of the corridor, near a flight of moving stairs, before Rose turned and stopped.

'Okay. So...I just want you to know that this whole thing is entirely hypothetical and not happening in any way, shape, or form—yes?'

Though her words intrigued him, Albus replied in the affirmative.

Rose seemed to be looking for the appropriate words. 'How would you feel if I...if I fancied—say—a Slytherin?'

'Are they a decent Slytherin?'

Rose looks up at him with raised eyebrows. 'Is that you saying you'd be all right with it? If they weren't awful?'

'Well, if they make you happy, I s'pose—but that's not what I was saying,' Albus told her uneasily, watching his cousin's face fade from hopefulness to anxiety, disappointment. 'That was me asking if the person you fancy is decent.'

Rose spluttered, 'I never—never said I fancied _anyone_—purely—I said it was p-purely _hypothetical_—Al—'

'Nothing is ever purely hypothetical, Rose.'

The stairway to their right moved to help a couple of distant Hufflepuffs get down to the floor below. Rose let out a sigh that amalgamated her nervousness with any underlying fear of persecution. Albus felt the need to clarify that this bloke's house had nothing to do with whether or not he thought it was okay for Rose to fancy him.

'But,' Albus told the red-haired girl, 'if he happens to be a Slytheirn, then it's not me you have to worry about. It's probably James or Fred.'

'Believe me,' Rose said assertively, 'I'm aware of that.'

There was a moment's pause before Albus asked, 'was that all you wanted?'; at which Rose nodded. They continued back the way they had come; the hallway a lot more deserted now, and it was not until they reached the corner at the other end, the one leading down to the entrance hall, and then to across it to the Great Hall—there was an awful lot of things named "halls" at Hogwarts, and they were all in a close proximity—it was not until they reached the end corner, that Rose searched for secrecy.

'You won't _tell_ anyone about this, will you?'

Albus raised his eyebrows. 'Your trust in me is heartwarming.'

'Oh, you know I don't mean that, Al! Don't tell anyone—please?'

'Relax, Rose; I wouldn't do that to you. Rose Weasley: right pain, Know-It-All, Fancier of Slytherins-whose-names-you-have-not-told-me-at-this-present-time—you are still my cousin. And that means I've got your back. Thick and thin and all that small print stuff.'

Rose grinned at him and the two of them embarked down the stairs. 'I knew I could count on you, Al.'

* * *

Lily Luna Potter did not usually take it upon herself to seek out the victims of her brother's conquest, but said victims were not usually intelligent, or sensible, or anything else Cordelia Gilbert had going for her; and so Lily made an exception.

Thankfully, Cordelia had been walking down to the Great Hall by herself, and this meant Lily didn't have to pluck her from a group of Ravenclaws babbling on about the necessary level of enchantments placed to make flying carpets levitate—or whatever it was that Ravenclaws talked about.

Granted, the tall girl looked more than a little surprised to see Lily striding up to her with a smile plastered on her face. From the talk James had given her at breakfast, Lily knew that Mitchell had probably done his job as planned and alerted the blatantly oblivious Cordelia to the fact Mr. King Fit of Gryffindor Quidditch and Prankster Fame wanted to snog her senseless.

'Cordelia—hey, I was wondering if I could just have a word?'

'Yes, of course,' Cordelia said earnestly. For once, Lily didn't feel talked down to, which was another dividing factor from James's past girlfriends.

'Forgive me if I'm being overly blunt, but I want to know—just what _is_ your relationship with my brother?'

'...James, or Albus?'

'James.'

Cordelia bit her lip. 'Despite what some people—including my little brother, thanks to _you_'—she did not say this unkindly, in fact, she smiled as she said it—'may think, there really isn't anything going on with me and James.'

'Don't you two hang out every night?'

Cordelia's brow furrowed. 'Well, yeah,' she admitted, 'but that's because of Prefect's watches and—'

'—and who _organizes_ the shifts for these watches?' Lily pointed out.

'The Head Boy and Girl,' Cordelia replied, closer to admitting defeat as the minutes passed by.

'Bingo!' Lily exclaimed. 'But you're telling me that, while you two have spent every night together for a week, and most girls find James well fit and _definitely_ kissable—whoa, that sounds strange coming from me; but believe me, it's the truth—_nothing_ has happened between the two of you?'

Cordelia shook her head: no.

'Well, shoot.' Lily said, resting her hands on her hips. 'My respect for you has skyrocketed.'

Cordelia chuckled. She really was pretty, and Lily had to hand it to James: this time it was a natural beauty. Not the most striking of anyone that Lily had ever laid eyes on, but certainly the most comfortable kind of attractive—underappreciated; something beautiful that could only be found if you were willing to take the time to look for it. Lily had to tell herself to snap out of it. Cordelia was gorgeous, yes; but it wasn't enough to get Lily developing a girl crush.

Bridget Davies came down the stairs and spotted Cordelia just as Lily spotted Bridget. Having caught sight of her best friend, Bridget continued down the stairs to where Cordelia was standing, conversing with Lily herself. There came the end of the conversation, Lily concluded. With a look from Bridget to Lily, Cordelia gave the redhead a quick smile.

'You're the coolest fourteen-year-old I know,' the Ravenclaw said before her friend showed up and, with a polite, albeit slightly demeaning, "hello", dragged Cordelia off.

And—right now—Cordelia Gilbert was the coolest girl-who's-caught-James's-wandering-eye Lily knew. Even _if_ her attempt at resistance was probably (well, something more like _definitely_) doomed.

* * *

'You're _not_ going out with Miles Clarke.'

'For the thirteenth time, James—yes I am! And nothing you say can deter me from doing so!'

'Barbara—'

'No, James,' the girl snapped, whirling around to face the boy who had been in hot pursuit since she left History of Magic. '_You_ _listen here_. This might just be the _one_ chance I get with a decent bloke, and if you lads won't let me be—if you _mess it up_—I will find a way to—'

'What about Fred?'

Barbara's expression melted from anger to confusion. 'What _about_ Fred?' she asked.

'Given enough time,' James admitted, 'the guy might come to his senses.'

Barbara raised an eyebrow. 'Still not following...are you trying to tell me that Fred fancies me? Because that is _ridic_—'

'—possible?' James interjected. 'You two have been mates forever; there's always a chance. Aren't girls meant to like that sort of thing? Best friends turning into something more?'

Barbara rolled her eyes. 'Cordelia Gilbert's making your brain go fuzzy. Tonight's your last shift of watches with her, right?'

James's eyebrows shot up in confirmation, while the rest of his face remained stony. As if he needed reminding. After a week, he and Cordelia were definitely friends, but friends...well, it wasn't what James wanted. He was only as close to Cordelia as Albus was—even though that relationship had been getting increasingly prominent lately (something he would need to check up on)—and if anything was going to happen, it needed to happen soon.

'I'm telling you, James; not to just be pessimistic, but to be a friend; your chances of getting anywhere with her in the next twelve hours are practically naught.'

'You say that like I'm not aware of it.'

But if there was anything that fueled James Potter with the goal to succeed, it was the ability to prove someone else wrong.

* * *

Shelley had chosen the _precisely_ wrong moment to force Cordelia into letting her "work Mama Shelley's magic" and make her over. It was time for her watches with James—her _last_ watch with James—and Shelley had done her hair, applied more eyeliner than Cordelia approved of, and generally made her look a lot more..._Shelley_-ish...than Cordelia would have liked.

This would have been fine, had Shelley not charmed the makeup so to not come off for half an hour after it was applied, despite whatever Cordelia's advanced knowledge of magic had in its arsenal to do the exact opposite. And so the girl was stuck all made-up for her last night in the company of the Head Boy. She was almost starting to think Shelley had instigated the entire thing.

'Don't start; I know I look like a cow.' Cordelia snapped, trying her best not to exhibit it as she exited Ravenclaw tower. James remained silent.

When she finally checked why, she found the Head Boy with his mouth slightly open, eyes wide. He seemed practically speechless.

'I look that frightful, do I?'

'Wha—no—_no_, you certainly d-don't look frightful—in fact, you look completely...er...well, I'm kind of—er—'

She surveyed him, curious. It was a moment before James exhaled and said, 'all right. I need to talk to you about something.'

He gestured in the direction of the route that they always took to the Head's Office and the two of them began the trip, Cordelia's hands in her pockets and James looking contemplative, and slightly nervous.

'So.' He sighed again. 'Er—I don't know what the others have told you, but...I'—another deep breath: in and out—'I really fancy you.'

Cordelia's head whipped around. Even though people had been telling her this left and right, and James's own sister had done so a bare five hours ago, if that, it still came as a shock. She contemplated other statements that could have sounded similar, in case her ears had misheard; but alas, Cordelia came up short.

'Is that the truth?'

'Well, I wouldn't lie about it.'

Cordelia swallowed, quite nervous and more uncomfortable than she probably should have been—a talented, attractive, borderline _famous_ boy had just told her that he fancied her, and yet she felt unsure.

'You've only known me a week.'

James's brow furrowed. Apparently, this wasn't going as he had anticipated. 'That's not true; even before this year, I knew you from Quidditch, and-and—'

'I _really_ don't mean to be rude,' Cordelia said, cutting across him with guilt building in her stomach, 'but can I ask you why?'

'Why I fancy you and just admitted it, thus making me look like a total tosser?' James asked. 'Sure.'

He paused, trying to phrase it in his mind. 'I fancy you because you're different—not in the generic, "not a twat" way; no, it's more than that—you're intelligent but not snobby. You're the only female Quidditch Captain in the whole school, and you're the only Chaser with the guts to go up against _this_'—he gestured to himself—'which brings me to my next argument: you treat me like a person, not a title. I'm a Potter, and you're _not_ falling at my feet. That's a change. You're gorgeous, but not because you make yourself that way—not that I'm not hitting an absolute mental block right now because _come on_, cow-ish or not, that make-up is _whoa_—you're gorgeous because you're just _you_. It's not just in the way you look, it's who you are. You're funny, you're gutsy, you're _tall_ which—I sincerely apologize if this translates wrongly—but you've got legs that go on for _miles_. And it's for those reasons; not just your looks, that I fancy you.'

They had come a stop now, in front of a series of windows that looked out over the Black Lake, off of which the moon's light shone, glinting an eerie silver. The torches that lit the halls of Hogwarts reflected in Cordelia's misty eyes, where the beginnings of tears were accumulating. She took a deep breath, steadied herself and began to speak.

'It's not that I'm not flattered, James; because I am: you're this talented, great, intelligent person—you're Head Boy, for crying out loud—and it's not that I don't feel pleased that I've done something to merit this, the fact that it's me you fancy. But if I'm completely honest...'

James steadied himself for rejection, but he did not anticipate what was to come.

'...I'm _scared_. And I know that it's daft to be afraid of something like this. But the truth is, I don't want to be one of those girls.'

'One of... which girls?'

Cordelia exhaled. 'Exactly,' she said quietly. 'One of those nameless girls in the history of _you_, James. I don't want to be a footnote on one of the pages of your life; just another one of the girls. _That's_ what scares me.'

She paused once more. 'I just... I want to matter.'

James's resolve came up short. He simply stood, watching a girl who was perfect in his eyes; watching this perfect girl reject him because of a series of careless decisions he had made in the past. Because she was terrified of being an insignificant _one_ in a crowd of many. He watched as, slowly, the make-up on her face, placed there against her will, dissolved to nothingness; and she was just Cordelia.

She was just Cordelia and he was just James, standing together in a desolate corridor at half past nine in the evening, both feeling conflicted and slightly upset. He was just a boy who had made a few too many wrong decisions, and she was just a girl who was afraid of becoming one of them.

'Okay,' James said slowly.

Cordelia looked up, investigating his face.

'Okay,' he said again, in the same calm voice, as if the realization was just hitting him.

'I'm so sorry.'

'No,' James told her. He took a deep breath. 'No; it's not you who should be apologizing. It's me.'

'But it's me who said "no".'

'I know. But it's me who didn't know how to. And now that's cost me someone really, really important.' He took a moment to see if Cordelia would react. She displayed no emotion; simply waited for him to continue. 'And for that,' James concluded. 'I cannot be more sorry.'

Cordelia looked confused; as though she was surprised that James could have said such a thing. Something so meaningful, something so whole, so full of _feeling_, could not have come from him. This was James, who was famous for not feeling, for casting off after boredom took its toll.

And here he was telling her that he was sorry. Sorry for doing something that prevented the possibility of them being together. Sorry that it was his fault that the two of them couldn't be anything more than friends.

It almost made Cordelia want to cry. Her eyes were glazed over: she was ready to, there was no doubt about it. Something she had laughed off this morning, something that she never thought possible—and yet, now that it had happened, now that James had admitted to fancying her and the whole thing was actually real—she felt melancholy. Unsure. Upset.

'Please.' James said simply, as he watched her begin to turn away. 'I know I've been an idiot. I know that. But please... please just _stay_. Just for the next couple of hours, until the official end of watches, and then you never have to speak to me again.'

Cordelia was quiet, but she did not leave. They stood together in silence for a moment, surroundings lit by the contrasting orange and silver of the moon and the torches displayed up and down the corridor.

'You know,' Cordelia said quietly, 'people are wrong about you. Everyone says that you're constantly mischievous and... and that you don't have a serious bone in your body. That you don't care.'

James looked over at her, intrigued.

'But you _do_,' Cordelia told him. She wasn't even looking at him any more, like she wasn't even aware of his presence, and that these words were the product of her deepest thoughts. 'You care more than anyone would think. And no one knows this other side of you—this James that feels, and takes charge for the better, and does what he knows is right. I'm pretty sure that even _I _don't know this version of James.'

She exhaled deeply, but the Head Boy was too engrossed in what she had to say to notice anything that wasn't her—that wasn't this beautiful Cordelia, who seemed to know him better than anyone else, even though she claimed that _he_ didn't know _her_ at all. His heart pounded in his chest as her words continued.

'But if I did—know this other, _exquisite_ James that nobody gets to see—then he would be... the most marvelous person. He would have such a positive impact on _everything_, and everyone.'

Another pause, but the simple sentence Cordelia uttered afterwards made up for any breaks in speech:

'And that would be the James I'd be _lucky_ to fall in love with.'


	6. Worth It

**Disclaimer: **As much as I wish I owned Harry Potter, I do not. Which would be brilliant, but is not happening. This is the part where I cry, or do something equally as melodramatic and ridiculous.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

"**Worth It"**

**Or**

"**Teddy's owl had rage".**

* * *

_**September 9**_

* * *

The day following James and Cordelia's last watch was uncomfortable at best. It wasn't as though James had told his friends, or Cordelia hers, but the atmosphere just seemed to emanate discomfort.

'He's been down in the dumps all day,' Fred notified Louis over breakfast that morning.

This served as clarification not to mention the words "Cordelia" or "Ravenclaw" or anything related to any variation of either word within earshot of James Potter. Which _was_ working fine; through breakfast, right up until the second to last lesson of the day, which James had free. Unfortunately, so did Shelley Corner.

He was sitting in the library—a location James did not frequent, except when hiding from hideous ex-girlfriends (even having that thought made him cringe, after what Cordelia had said last night about not wanting to be one of the nameless in the history of James Potter)—when, lo and behold, Shelley Corner strolled her way over to him and sat down opposite like they were best mates.

'To what do I owe the pleasure?' James asked, setting down the book he had been pretending to read. It probably would have been interesting, had he not been so occupied and put out because with books came knowledge and with knowledge came intelligence and with intelligence came...

Cordelia Gilbert.

'I've been hearing some things recently,' Shelley began, her tone almost businesslike, like she was negotiating how best to proceed in a legal case. 'Now, do you want to _tell_ me about what happened with Cordelia, or am I going to have to draw the conclusion that you two had a bloody good snog and that's why she can't stand to talk about you without acting like someone's died?'

James's expression was pained, though he had done his best to hide it. Shelley, unfortunately, noticed.

'What's wrong with you, mate?'

'Er... things didn't really—well, to put it bluntly,' James said, 'we didn't have a "bloody good snog". She—er—Cordelia doesn't really...it's not like that. She doesn't—'

'—Good god, James,' Shelley said sharply, her eyes wide and, for once in James's life, the worry didn't look fake. 'I'm so sorry—I don't know why I... I really wouldn't have—I am _so _sorry!'

James knew his life had hit rock bottom when he was sitting in the Hogwarts library with Shelley Corner as his sole comforter. It was a week into his seventh year, and he had completely lost it. There hadn't even been a decent joke yet—that was when it really hit him, just how far he'd fallen.

But after last night with Cordelia, things could have gone two ways: either James could have taken her advice, and tried to become a better person, to make it visible—to show that he _did_ care; or he could have decided that, no, what did she know? This girl had _rejected him_—James Potter could have any girl he wanted.

But that part of the second option was a blatant lie. James Potter could_ not_ have any girl he wanted. Because he couldn't have _the_ girl he wanted.

'Do you want to talk about it?'

Shelley's voice shook him back to reality. With a shake of his head, James told her, 'no. Not particularly.' But of course, this was Shelley. If she was unable to do anything, it was listen.

'Come on, James, just tell me why she said no—I'm assuming that's what happened, because you're right depressed, and it's almost sad—I'm in her house, you know, I might be able to help out.'

When James did not reply straight away, Shelley added: 'And we _did_ snog, so I can offer a good vantage point for—'

'—okay, Shelley, _thanks_.'

'Got you squawking, Potter,' she grinned. 'Now spill.'

* * *

'He does know I'm sorry, doesn't he?'

'You've asked for clarification eighteen times, Barbs. I think he gets it.'

Barbara couldn't help but feel awful. She'd told James that he didn't have a chance with Cordelia, not thinking that he would follow things through. Sadly, he had, and Barbara's theory had been correct. This was one of those rare times where she hated being right.

She couldn't exactly go up and talk to Cordelia about it, now could she? That would make an uncomfortable situation—which was what she called it at best—a relationship-destroying one—which would be the worst possible outcome. Still feeling awful, Barbara took her usual Transfiguration seat in the row beside Fred and James. Next to her sat Molly, who was fiddling with a few strands of her hair that seemed to be longer than the others. Archie Myers wasn't in the class.

'Are you really going to Hogsmeade with Miles Clarke?' Molly whispered as they began their assignment, transfiguring birdcages into little canaries—cages to birds, Barbara observed. Either irony, or just chance.

'Does _everyone_ know about that now?' She asked, annoyed.

At the next table, Fred's cage sprouted a canary head and the bird's feet; like someone had given the small yellow bird a cage instead of a torso. Barbara didn't fancy observing the digestive process of that creature.

'Nah,' Molly reassured her. 'It's just that Fred keeps bringing it up—whenever someone mentions Clarke, Fred talks about him like he's got some heinous disease, like Spattergroit.'

If her best friend was just looking out for her, why was he being so mean about Miles? Yes, they were going to Hogsmeade together, but it was just a date—Quidditch wouldn't change when the season hit; no, not at all. If need be, Barbara would postpone the relationship for the good of her team. (Though she definitely understood that, while he was a Hufflepuff, Miles Clarke might not enjoy being put on hold for a girlfriend to uphold what was expected of her as a member of a different house.)

'Why?'

Molly gave her a look, which the almost completely transfigured canary in front of the Weasley girl mirrored. The magic was done almost perfectly, minus the fact that the bird's wings were made of the cage's metal.

There was a bird's chirp from Barbara's left, and through Fred's canary's cage stomach, she saw that James's canary was perfectly transfigured.

Well, Barbara noticed, not _perfectly_. Instead of being a happy, sunny yellow, James's bird was discolored—occasional speckles of a melancholy blue were scattered around its body. The whole mood seemed to change. Barbara's proud smile faded, and—though she did not want it to—became more pitying. James was taking this whole thing pretty hard, even if he'd only seriously fancied Cordelia for about a week.

Sure, he'd talked about her Quidditch skills in the locker room for years. He'd also mentioned her—er—her _physique_, which had earned him a slap from Barbara on more than one occasion, but that was all in the past. James had actually grown to respect her over time: last night reaching the ultimatum; in which he shared his feelings, and...well, she didn't know what had happened word for word.

No one did, minus James and Cordelia, but it wasn't as though either of them wanted to say anything about it.

The rest of the class was spent trying to get everyone's canaries successfully transfigured, which resulted in a majority of students' success—and a trip to the hospital wing for Elena Finnigan, who somehow managed to make her bird explode.

* * *

'Cordelia!' Patricia Day's voice cut through the hallway in a way that parted the students separating her from the tall Ravenclaw girl ten feet in front. They were both on their way to dinner, coming from Charms, and since she couldn't find Ruby or Venice or Scorpius—and because, if she really admitted it, Patricia was interested in what had happened with James: even _she_ had seen him moping and given the fact he and Cordelia had Prefect's watches together, she gathered that Cordelia would know—Patricia hurried to catch up.

They weren't best mates, but they were close. Cordelia's father had been in Slytherin, in Patricia's father's year, and so the two of them remained close after school finished (and, a few years later, after _Voldemort_ finished: for neither of the girls' fathers had been inducted into the Death Eaters)—naturally leading their daughters into friendship, despite any differences.

'Hey, Patricia,' Cordelia greeted, smiling.

'Hullo.' Then, deciding there was nothing better to do than jump straight in, Patricia asked: 'So what's going on with Potter and why does he look like he needs a hug?'

'Which Potter are we talking about here?'

'Head Boy.' Patricia said, feeling lazy and moderately lethargic all of a sudden.

Cordelia's eyes inspected her shoes. 'I don't know,' she said quietly, 'perhaps he's having an off day.'

'If he's having an off day, then you're having one, too. _Are_ you two a package deal, then?'

Cordelia's expression was unreadable. She and Patricia turned a corner down into the entrance hall and passed a gaggle of third year Gryffindors, deep in a conversation that was filled to the brim with gossip. They were taking up enough of the space in the walkway that Patricia and Cordelia were so slow in passing they were forced to listen to what the girls were talking about.

'—asked out a Ravenclaw!' One said.

'Who?' Another asked.

'Potter, you idiot. _James Potter_.'

'Aw, so he has a girlfriend now?' said a mousy girl towards the back, her voice heavily disappointed. 'You know—another one?'

'Nah!' said the first one. 'I heard she said no!'

'What?'

'Is she insane?'

'She actually turned down a _Potter_? Like—not even kidding?'

'Do you know who it was?'

The first one nodded. 'Apparently it was Cordel'—she noticed Cordelia and Patricia edging their way past and she stopped dead, her face going white—'I'll tell you later.'

When Patricia and her Ravenclaw companion were free of the annoying younger girls, the Slytherin looked around to observe her friend's face. So James Potter had _asked her out_ (according to those girls, anyway, but could they be trusted?)? And Cordelia...said no? That explained _his_ unhappy behavior, but Cordelia was yet to answer for hers. Was it possible that she wasn't happy about saying no? That she wished she could have said yes?

No. This was Cordelia.

She had better taste than a boy who would snog anything with half a steady pulse—Head Boy or not.

'Oh, look,' Patricia said, pointing out some of Cordelia's Ravenclaw friends in a transparent attempt at changing the topic. 'I s'pose you should go and hang out with them.'

'But what about you?' Cordelia asked.

Typical perfect Cordelia. Even when in emotional despair, she'll be worrying about her friend being lonely.

'No, seriously, go ahead,' Patricia told her, giving her a little push. 'See? I won't be lonely—there's Venice!'

And with that, Patricia hurried off after her housemate, hoping that Cordelia's friends had the sense not to impose on the James issue.

* * *

It had only been thirty minutes since Rose told her friends about James's being turned down—which she really shouldn't have done, but she needed something to distract them from how angry Liz was (for no apparent reason, for she would not tell them why) and how she refused to speak to Rose. But in that thirty minutes, Melissa had planned how best to cheer him up—a trip to Hogsmeade and an isolated afternoon with, who else?, _herself_—and Lottie had gone about squealing and telling Rose over and over how _mental_ that Cordelia Gilbert was for saying no. Melissa was bringing Rose up to speed on her latest plans—each one more elaborate than the last; all making Rose want to cringe in fear for her cousin's mental health. Melissa just got to the stage requiring lots of _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_ when Rose pulled the plug.

'That is _disgusting_!'

'Hey!' Melissa protested. 'It's not as though I—'

'—He's my cousin; please don't talk about how fit he is. Or what you would do with that plant.'

Rose checked the time, but decided that it probably wasn't a good night to sneak out and meet Scorpius. Albus and that Andy girl from Hufflepuff were on watch. Them walking in on her snogging Scorpius would probably not be the best—judging from Andy's experience in the kitchens, every house elf would know about Rose and Scorpius within ten minutes; they'd probably take it upon themselves to write it in icing at dinner, with her luck.

'I saw Shelley Corner with him in the library earlier,' Melissa said, speaking still of James.

'Merlin,' Rose muttered in exasperation, 'don't tell me she's trying something on him after that whole thing with Goyle and the others.'

'_Total slag_.'

Lottie looked up from the book she had been half-heartedly reading at the end of her bed. 'Yeah, but she's not been dressing like it lately.'

'Reckon she's borrowing Gilbert's clothes?' Melissa joked.

'Perhaps that's why he was getting so close,' Lottie jabbed. 'Because he can smell Gilbert on her.'

At this, Rose threw a pillow in Lottie's direction: it hit its target's head and almost knocked her off the bed. Rose loved her friends, but it was times like this that she couldn't stand them.

'James is suffering from rejection just like anyone else would. Now, you lot shut up about him, yes?'

Lottie and Melissa muttered, 'fine.'

Liz, who had remained silent throughout this whole ordeal, finally uttered the words: 'If you ask me, it probably hurts him more than it'd hurt any of you. I don't imagine he's heard the word "no" too often.'

And though Rose wasn't sure how she felt about the connotation the words gave out, or the girl who was saying them, she felt that—to a certain extent—she agreed.

* * *

_**September 10**_

* * *

Saturday passed by in a blur of varying emotions for the different occupants of Hogwarts castle. Cordelia faked smiles, and snuck furtive glances in James's direction to see how he was going; Fred notified James of these looks and, in turn, the Head Boy snuck some back at Cordelia as well. Barbara was continuously bombarded with various Weasley relatives telling her that going on a date with Miles Clarke would be a mistake—they all seemed to mention Fred but Barbara didn't really understand. He didn't like her that way.

Molly continued to see Archie Myers, and the two of them were inseparable in public. Rose continued to see Scorpius Malfoy, and the two of them were inseparable in private. Shelley kept up her attempts at decency, and didn't snog a single boy for an entire week—a Hogwarts record for her, one of which she was proud. Thomas Prikk remained true to his name, and true to his nature; the wounds from the duel between he, Caladora, Shelley, and Devon were starting to heal. It was almost like watching a troll morph into a slightly less ugly troll. And Lily couldn't believe how soon things had fallen apart after her talk with Cordelia, to put it simply.

But that's just the basic gist.

The letter from Teddy arrived that night, delivered by owl. It landed in James's window and glared at him for about five minutes before waddling further inside and taking up residence on the end of his four poster, from which it continued to glare at him.

'What?'

The bird stuck out its left leg, somehow managing to look annoyed and maintain the glare. Teddy's owl had rage.

James took the letter from its place tied to the owl's leg and gave it a pat on the head. While nuzzling into his hand, it still continued to glare.

_Dear James,_

_ What's this I hear about Cordelia Gilbert? Is she that Ravenclaw girl_—_the Quidditch one that everyone rants on about? If she is, then you seem to have picked the right girl. I also heard, and I really am sorry about this, James, that she for some reason, doesn't fancy you back._

_ If you know why, then take that advice and run with it. Victoire once slapped me in the face for saying something offensive in French_—_hey, Dominique told me it meant "you have gorgeous eyes" (and I certainly didn't mean to tell Vic that her tongue was mouldy)_—_but now she and I are engaged. So don't lose out on hope._

_ Also, I'll be coming up to visit Neville in a week or two_—_Hagrid's also said he wants some help if I'm 'round, so I'll be staying for a wee while; we can catch up then. _

_ Or, if you want, I could talk to this Cordelia girl for you. Because if you're that depressed about one girl not liking you back, then she's got to be something special. But sorry. I should shut up._

_ Focus on school_—_the Gryffindor Quidditch team can NOT lose their title because their captain's too busy ogling at the opposition! I was Captain at Hogwarts and if you mess this up, not even your dad will be able to restrain me. So don't. Mess. Up. With. Quidditch._

_ Sorry I haven't given any rock solid advice_—_I'll ask Vic for ideas and keep you posted. I'll be seeing you soon._

_- Teddy_

_P.S. Your dad's telling me that he'll write soon. Believe it or not, he actually cares about your well-being._

James grinned for the first time in what—even though it had only been a few days, at maximum—felt like weeks. Trust Teddy to bring up Quidditch and make everything a competition again. But seeing Teddy would definitely do James some good—Teddy was practically his big brother. He'd spent a majority of James's childhood at the Potters' house. The Head Boy decided that, if anyone was going to be able to clear his head and offer advice worth using, it would be Teddy Lupin.

'I'll send a note back with a school owl,' James told Teddy's owl, who had continued glaring the entire time James had been reading. Its annoyed look did not falter, but it gave its feathers and ruffle and promptly flew back out the window and into the night.

Perhaps if he did what Teddy told him to do: follow Cordelia's advice, then things would sort themselves out. It was pretty much what James had been planning to do anyway, but getting confirmation from Teddy was the necessary boost in the right direction.

Cordelia wanted James to show people he cared: that he was more than his pranks and his title, that there was a decent bloke inside there, too. And she was scared of being one in a long line of girls.

_Well then_, James thought to himself, _I'm just going to have to make sure she's remembered._

* * *

_**September 11**_

* * *

'You fancy Scorpius Malfoy, don't you?'

Rose whirled around to see Albus behind her. They were alone in the common room—if they weren't, Al would already be lying hexed on the floor, and all other occupants of the room safely _obliviated_. But they were alone.

'Why would you say something like that, Al?'

Her voice sounded high and fake, even to her own ears. She had done her best to lie; but there was just something about Albus that left her unable to. The guy was just too kind.

'Well,' Al began, 'you asked me—_hypothetically_—if I would be okay with your fancying a Slytherin, to which I replied "if they're decent". Then over the past day or two, I've seen you looking at him a _lot_. I notice it when James stares at Cordelia—you're usually close enough by for me to tell that you're staring at someone, and then if I follow your gaze a table past the Ravenclaw one...who am I confronted with? Why, Scorpius Malfoy of course.'

Al, as usual, was spot on. Rose _did_ fancy Scorpius Malfoy. She also happened to be snogging him, but Albus didn't need that information just yet: if ever. Was that information _ever_ to be released—and this made Rose very wary of Liz and her word—they would both be in incredible trouble.

'So...' Al said, 'Am I right?'

Rose took a deep breath. 'You don't hate me, do you?'

Al shook his head. 'Nah. I mean, Scorpius is an okay guy—I can see why you'd like him, even if he _is_ a bit of a sod. But that's just my opinion.'

Rose threw her arms around her cousin, who, having not been expecting it, almost tumbled backward into a table someone had set in the near middle of the room.

'James'll have a different idea, though. If he finds out.'

'He won't. He won't find out. Trust me,' Rose said—though she was unsure if it was more to reassure Al or herself. 'James has enough on his plate already.'

Their privacy was interrupted by a group of fourth years—Lily, Hugo, and Lucy included—who raced through the common room and up to their dormitories, not caring to say hello or explain what in the world was happening as they passed. Al and Rose shared a silent agreement: he wouldn't tell anyone for the sake of the family. In return, she'd keep whatever secretly he needed kept.

And so the pact was born.

* * *

While secrets were being exchanged in the Gryffindor common room, James and Christopher Wood were making their way down to the grounds. The conversation was primarily focused on Quidditch, and the fact that tryouts were on the next coming Thursday, but then a ray of sunlight coming in from outside caught the light brown hair of a girl on her way out to the lake.

'Sorry, mate,' James said quickly, indicating to Wood that he'd be back as soon as he could, and he hurried off after Cordelia.

It would be the first time they'd spoken directly since the eighth, but James was determined to get the message across: he needed this girl to know that he was willing to do whatever it took for her.

'Hey!' he called, about six feet behind her now. 'Cordelia!'

She turned at the mention of her name, and her face broke into a smile when she noticed that it was James who wanted her attention. He made his way over to her: hoping, praying, that he didn't mess this up. That was the last thing he needed.

'Yes?' Cordelia asked, still smiling slightly.

'Look,' James began, taking things slowly, 'I know why you said what you said, and I know what I have to do in order to prove to you—and to everyone else—that I deserve you, because you're a girl worth fancying.' He paused, taking a breath before resuming. 'So, this is _me_, telling _you_, that I'll do whatever it takes to prove that we should be together.'

Cordelia raised an eyebrow, and James prepared for the worst. But instead of it—the worst—coming, and her publicly humiliating him, she just chuckled slightly. She actually grinned.

'Do you really think that much of me?' she asked..

James—who, by this point, was grinning back down at her— simply nodded.


	7. Not harsh, but Safe

**Disclaimer:** My name is not Joanne Rowling and therefore the rights to the Harry Potter franchise and all its affiliates do not go to me. Unfortunately.

**Warning:** Not a warning so much as an apology for not posting this chapter sooner. The reason for this is that I have been on a plane for the past day and then had some family problems, as well as an issue in the fact that my great grandparents' house only has one computer that connects to the internet, and so I had to re-write Chapter 7 on this Toshiba.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**"Not harsh: Safe."**

**Or**

**"Because you're a twat".**

* * *

_**September 12**_

* * *

Even though it had been two hours since the event had occurred, Hugo had still not been able to process what had happened; he returned to the Gryffindor common room so dazed that Lucy and Lily left their game of Exploding Snap and had to check on him.

'What's up with you?' Lily questioned, sitting down on the coach beside a still-blushing Hugo.

'I, er—I think Alana Harris asked me out.'

'What?' Lucy cried. 'Are you serious—Alana Harris? Alana... Harris? Is she mad?'

Alana Harris was a fourth year Gryffindor, like themselves: medium height, straight brown hair, both hesitant and confident and somehow managing to be both these things at the same time. She was in Lucy and Lily's dormitory, and they were somewhat friends, but neither Weasley relative had ever really gotten close to the girl.

'Your confidence in me is astounding.' Hugo deadpanned, in response to his cousins' earlier words.

'Nah, Hugo. Come off it—you _know_ we don't mean to insult you.' Lily said, hitting him lightly on the arm. 'We just really can't believe that any girl—Alana Harris or not—would want to ask you out. It's a cousinly thing.'

'Yeah,' agreed Lucy. 'I mean, you can't be all bad if you're related to us. And you know a lot about Quidditch—I s'pose that's an attractive trait.'

'I've never played for the house team, though.'

Lily scrunched up her nose. 'So what? You're on the reserve team. And you're nice.'

Hugo supposed she was right. He didn't really know what a girl would see in him, but he always tried his best. With a sister like Rose, and cousins like the ones he had, he was constantly expected to outshine all expectations. And that wasn't counting those that had been pegged on him before birth, given the deeds of his parents.

'So how'd it happen?' Lucy asked, munching on a pack of sweets that Hugo could have sworn weren't there a moment before. (Later, he would check his pocket and find about a third of the confectionary his mother had sent him was mysteriously missing; to never be found.)

He opened his mouth before knowing how to proceed. Surprisingly, words came out. 'I was just on my way to Defence Against the Dark Arts, and then she sort of... well, she came up to me and asked me when the first Hogsmeade trip was. I told her—you know—the seventeenth, or at least that's what I heard Barbara Tennant saying. And then she asked me to go with her.' He paused a moment, because the story didn't quite end there, and he didn't know how _not_ to sound cocky. 'You know, first of all, I was more shocked than anything. I mean—she's a girl and—'

'Would you rather it was a bloke asking you to Hogsmeade?'

Lucy laughed at Lily's remark, while Hugo scowled. 'No. But let me continue,' he threatened, 'or else you'll never know. Okay? Good. All right. So I asked her if she meant it like a date—'

'God, you're dense.'

'Of _course_ she did. I'm surprised the poor girl didn't change her mind after that thick remark—'

'Yes, thank you for your input!' Hugo cut across tersely. How was he supposed to tell them exactly what had happened if they _weren't going to keep their mouths shut_? Inhaling, Hugo continued—surprisingly, without any interruption. 'Anyway, she said that was how she meant it, and that if I didn't want to, we could just go as mates... but I told her a date would be fine. Brilliant, actually.' He sighed, knowing that by this time, he was probably blushing redder than his hair. 'And there you have it.'

'Wow, Hugo.' Lucy said, almost like she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

'Good on you, mate.' Lily told him, taking a sweet from the paper bag when Lucy offered it.

The two of the girls lingered a moment in silence before leaving to continue their Exploding Snap tournament. Any other inhabitants of the common room looked slightly worried about this—for the girls were notorious for overexaggerating on the follow-up prizes that went to whoever won—but ultimately, no one spoke up against them.

Watching the game continue, both sides partaking rather aggressively, Hugo sunk further into the couch. Alana Harris had asked him out.

And he'd said yes.

* * *

'Hey: Patricia! Patrica Day!'

Patricia turned around, quite unsure why Rose Weasley was calling her, and more than a bit irritated that she had to stop. She really didn't like Rose. It wasn't a jealousy thing—no, it was nothing like that. It was that, under all the kind words people had to say about her, Patricia was sure there was a close-minded, judgmental individual. She wasn't sure of this in the way that one was sure of there being rain tomorrow, with reasoning because the clouds had been dark for hours; no, it was a strong "sure". A knowledgable "sure". And Patricia kept with this "sure", positive that one day, she would be proven correct.

But in short she turned around and tried to be civilized.

'Yes?'

Rose hurried up to her, dark red hair spilling around her shoulders as she did so. 'I was wondering if you knew the schedule for Prefect's patrols?' she asked. 'You're one, aren't you?'

_ Well, you've certainly seen me in meetings. I don't know why I would be there if I weren't one. I mean, I may be Scorpius's best mate, but even I would opt out of that relationship if it meant escaping the most unintentionally boring meetings of all time. But to answer your question: yes, Weasley, I am definitely a Prefect._

'Yeah—I've got it somewhere.' Patricia felt around in her pockets, finding nothing. Even though she didn't like Rose, Patricia wasn't about to lie to her face; she would have offered the schedule had she actually found it. 'Nah, I haven't got it.' Then, with a realization: 'Scorpius took it in Charms,' she added, remembering.

A shadow of something passed over Rose's face—not a physical shadow: a hint of an emotion that she managed to cover up before it registered—at the mention of Scorpius. With a sigh, the Gryffindor replied, 'oh. Okay. If Scorpius has got it, do you know where he'd be?'

_ Why don't you just ask James? He's your cousin, isn't he? Or if not James, then Albus? Wouldn't that make a world more sense?_

'Er, yeah. He said he was off to the library, but that was a while ago. If he's in the common room, I'll ask him for you.'

'Oh, thanks; that would be brilliant—bye, Patricia.'

With that, Rose left, up the stairs to a location Patricia hoped was Gryffindor tower. She didn't really want Rose hanging about with Scorpius.

And again, it wasn't a hate thing. It was a "Don't really want my best friend spending a whole lot of time associating with someone I vastly dislike, who isn't bad looking" thing. Not that Scorpius would ever really fall for Rose. Or any Weasley, for that matter. As anti-prejudicial as Scorpius was.

Patricia pushed the thought from her mind, and, with that, proceeded to the common room.

* * *

Albus found Andy the Hufflepuff in the kitchen. She had a tiny, tiny spot of left-over chocolate cake on the edge of her mouth, and was beginning another slice when Albus came into the room. Several house elves bowed.

'Hello,' Albus greeted unsurely, before edging his way closer to Andy.

She looked up. 'Potter,' she said, like it was a bit of a surprise. 'What brings you to this neck of the woods, eh?'

With another two spoonfuls, the cake was gone. Albus watched a house elf come to collect it. 'More cake, Miss Andy?'

'Oh, yes, Seamy. That'd be the best.'

Albus chose to respond to the Hufflepuff's earlier question as Seamy the house elf hurried off saying 'oh, no problem, Miss Andy, no problem never.'

'Prefect's rounds—we're s'posed to start our shifts tonight,' Albus clarified. Andy almost dropped the spoon she had kept in preparation for Seamy's new slice.

'That was _tonight_? Oh, I'm sorry, Potter—I completely forgot—would have come, had I know—'

'It's fine,' Albus reassured her, watching Seamy dart forward with another slice of chocolate cake, which he handed to Andy before sinking into a bow so deep, the edge of the elf's pointed nose brushed the floor. Clapping his hands together as Andy took another bite, Albus continued: 'Shouldn't we be going, then? Long night ahead of us.'

James hadn't bothered to give him the Marauder's Map before he left. Tonight was going to be a tedious manual search. Andy looked as though she was contemplating asking to bring her cake along, but thought better of it.

'All right,' she said, wiping her mouth free of cake crumbs and setting her plate down on the bench. 'Let's go.'

They left with a 'bye bye Albus and Andy!' from the house elves and a 'seeing you soon, Miss Andy! I be making more cakes!' from Seamy in particular. The school was dark and desolate, with the exception of the torches lit on the walls, and the statues set on certain corners. There was a ghostly laugh as the two of them set about patrolling up and down the first floor's corridors, which Albus hoped wasn't Peeves. He'd been quiet for about a week-probably terrorizing the first years and annoying the Bloody Baron-but that was longer than Peeves could last. An outburst was definitely on its way.

Half an hour later, when they were on their way down the Transfiguration corridor, Andy asked: 'Are we going to speak at all, or is this just going to be awkward as hell?'

Their words to each other had been hushed and direct up until this point. Now: now that Andy had said something, and the awkwardness was real, Albus wanted to say something to make up for it—anyone in their right mind would want to make the situation more comfortable. So he tried.

'What's going on in Hufflepuff?'

Andy sighed. 'Nothing, mate. We're Hufflepuff; did you really think there'd be drama ongoing?'

Albus nodded his eyebrows. 'S'pose not.'

'And... Gryffindor?'

'Not that I know of.'

There was a moment of quietness in which neither said anything. Andy spotted a broom closet and opened the door, finding not a couple but a precariously leaning mop, which fell on her with a loud clang. 'Shi...in splints,' she saved. 'You and Cordelia Gilbert are mates, right?' Andy inquired, propping the mop back up at a safer angle.

'Er, yeah—I'd say that.'

Albus hoped this discussion did not lead to James. Every conversation seemed to.

'She's really perfect.'

'She's pretty brilliant,' Albus agreed slowly, not quite knowing where Andy was headed.

'I don't want to be a stick in the mud,' Andy continued: 'But nonetheless... d'you fancy her?'

While the ground was absolutely spotless, clear of all obstructions, Albus found something to trip over. In his response, eyes wide, he asked for clarification: '_What_?'

'Do... you... fancy... Cordelia... Gilbert...?' Andy reiterated as though explaining to a two-year-old that if you add three to one, you get four. 'God, I don't know why I asked. Stupid me. Making it all worse.'

'No, er—it's okay. I don't—er—I don't mind. It's not a problem.' Albus took a deep breath, still trying to answer Andy's question without turning to a blowfish. 'But I... Cordelia? Nah. We're just really good mates.'

Andy nodded.

'Does it look that way?'

Andy laughed. 'I don't know. It could just be me.'

'Oh—okay, good.' Albus said, hoping that Andy was right: that it was just her. 'Because, y'know, don't want to ruin anything with assumptions.'

And it may have been just his paranoia, but in that moment, Albus thought he heard Andy murmur: 'Yeah. "Assumptions."'

* * *

_**September 13**_

* * *

'It's been a while.'

Scorpius didn't convey any emotion as he spoke: 'Almost five days.'

'Well, I'm sorry.'

A kiss was shared, chaste and teasing.

'But I couldn't let Liz get suspicious. She had to think we'd stopped seeing each other.'

'Frankly,' Scorpius admitted, 'I think it'd take more than a little chat from Pembridge to stop this.'

Another kiss, slightly longer this time.

'Is this you being romantic?'

'Why?' asked Scorpius; Rose could feel his breath on her cheek. 'Do you find it so?'

'I could get used to it.' She smiled, but then wondered if he could see it, given their proximity. 'Be careful,' she then advised, remaining true to their agreement: even though she wished it was not so: 'Make sure you don't start developing feelings.'

'When you say it like that, it sounds harsh.'

'It _is_ harsh.'

She pouted; Rose hated the word, but the action, she had discovered, worked rather well. After a while, playing to boys' affections was getting easier—Scorpius Malfoy, in particular. Pouts from Rose Weasley; well, to say the least, they tugged at the heartstring and got her what she wanted.

Well, on _most_ occasions.

'No,' Scorpius reasoned, unfazed by her expression.

Another kiss, his arms around her waist, hers dangling around her sides; then reaching up, to cup his face as she kissed him a fourth time.

'It's safe,' he concluded.

This was one of the more calm, slow rendezvous of the many they had shared. The classroom was more out of the way than they had usually gone—due to Liz's knowledge of their relationship and also the fact that Shelley Corner had been caught with various gentlemen (one of these trysts, Scorpius and Rose had witnessed firsthand)—and at any cost, being found out was not an option. Rose knew that she probably shouldn't have even admitted her feelings for Scorpius to Albus. But no, she decided, Al was smart, and he had sense, and he probably would have figured out anyway; Liz possibly could have told him.

Rose told herself she needed to stop thinking: to be decent, and happy with the moments she had, with the boy she had; cherishing the time they spent together, when it could, so easily be taken away.

A fifth kiss was shared, their arms winding further around each other; both clutching their companion closer—yes, togetherness was key. For in this time, all Rose wanted was Scorpius and hopefully he felt the same.

They stayed this way, intertwined, for an indefinite length of time. It was Scorpius who let things breathe; who called it to a stop for the moment. (Though, if Rose was honest, it always seemed to be.)

'I don't think your Patricia likes me very much,' Rose admitted, once it was clear things were not going to resume at the same pace.

'_My_ Patricia?' Scorpius said, amused.

'Well, you're mates—I don't mean "yours" like _I'm_ "yours". I mean "yours" like "the one you know".'

Scorpius half-smiled. 'The one I know.'

* * *

Cordelia wouldn't have turned around when her name was called if she had known what would happen. Nevertheless, she _did_ turn, and she found Connor Wilson hurrying up behind her, looking eager for conversation. Connor was her Prefects' partner—a sixth year Ravenclaw—and he had tried many times for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, failing to place on the team in all attempts.

'Wonder if I could have a word?'

Cordelia nodded. 'Yeah, sure.'

'Er,' Wilson looked uneasy. 'In private?'

He led her out to the grounds, where there weren't many people around. They came to a stop at the edge of the castle, out of view from the entrance hall.

'So, what was it you wanted?'

Wilson took a deep breath. He placed a hand on her shoulder. 'How've you been?'

Cordelia's eyebrows darted up, then down again quickly—more of a nod than shock. She felt uneasy. 'Fine.'

'I heard you had watches with James Potter,' Wilson said, his hand moving from her shoulder to rest on the wall behind her.

Cordelia watched it warily.

'Yes, that's right.'

Wilson looked annoyed, then said with great disdain: 'He's a bit of a prick, isn't he? Bet he tried to get in with you.'

Cordelia didn't like where this was going. She narrowed her eyes. 'No,' she told Wilson, scowling. 'He didn't. He was a right decent bloke, _actually_.'

'Not what I heard,' Wilson muttered.

'Then _you heard wrong_.'

He breathed out. He was leaning his weight into his hand, which was still on the wall beside Cordelia's head. 'Well, you won't be persuaded otherwise.' He took a moment. 'Look, Cordelia,' he said earnestly. 'You deserve a good bloke; someone who cares about you—who knows what you're about.'

She was feeling increasingly uncomfortable about this. She sensed where things were going, but given the fact Cordelia didn't know Wilson very well, she gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was all right. Maybe he wasn't trying anything on. But if Cordelia was brutally honest, it felt like he was.

To respond to his statement, Cordelia said simply: 'All right.'

'So we both agree?'

_Well, I feel more uncomfortable than anything that agrees with whatever it is you're trying to say but_—_oh, Merlin, what in the world are you_—

Cordelia didn't have time to respond before Wilson was leaning forward, lips poised: her mind blanked for a moment; bringing her up to recover just in time to stop him from kissing her.

'Oh _god_!' she exclaimed, jamming her knee into what she hoped was a very painful place in Wilson's anatomy. 'Just—oh my _lord_—what the..._Merlin_!'

She was three feet away before the boy, who was leaning over clutching a sensitive area, caught her attention again.

'You're saying "no" because you fancy Potter, aren't you?'

'No,' Cordelia managed, in all her disgust. 'I'm saying "no" because you're a _twat_.'

And with that, she dashed away into the castle; thoughts: dazed, angry, still unable to process the events of moments earlier because it was simply too _disgusting_—almost _derogatory_ in a way, because he was a boy, talking about her as a girl needing a decent partner who cared about her and then going ahead and trying to _get in_ with her—to comprehend.

Even as she hurried up the stairs and out of the entrance hall, Cordelia could hear Connor Wilson's voice, cursing into the rays of the setting sun.

* * *

Glancing one last time at the Marauder's Map, James muttered 'Mischief managed' and tucked it into his back pocket. He turned the corner and almost crashed into the exact person he was meant to: Cordelia Gilbert. She looked rather shaken.

'Oh, hey,' the Ravenclaw said, smile slight but still present.

'Are you okay, Cordelia?'

She breathed out, running a hand through her long, light brown hair. 'Er... would it be bad to say "I don't know"?'

'Nah,' James told her, quite passive. 'Of course not. But if I _may_ be curious, why don't you know?'

Cordelia's flickering smile faded completely. She pulled at the sleeves of her sweater, looking so uncomfortable that James wondered if he'd asked the wrong thing—which he'd done on many a date, with many a bimbo, who then threw butterbeer in his face—but Cordelia didn't seem like that type of girl.

She just murmured, 'Connor Wilson just tried to kiss me.'

It took all James had not to smash his fist through the wall beside. He had never, _never in his life_ felt so angry—not at Slytherin during a particularly foul, competitive game of Quidditch; not because of annoying reporters for the _Daily Prophet_ who were trying to get a scoop on the Hero Potter's son; not when someone was making fun of a relative of his—he was unbearably furious now, at Connor Wilson, for having the nerve to try and—and _kiss_—the girl he most liked out of anyone he'd ever fancied. And Wilson, one way or another, was going to pay. As cliche as it sounded: that Ravenclaw had messed with the _wrong_ Potter. There had to be something he could do, some horrible thing he could dig up and... and—

Cordelia's voice shattered James's sadistic scheming. 'James,' she said, 'you're shaking.'

'What?'

She put a hand to his upper arm to try and stop the movement: he was, indeed, shaking. James tried to ignore the electric charge that seemed to be coursing through his veins from where her hand so casually touched, in order to hear the continuation of Cordelia's concern.

'You all right?'

'Do you want me to be honest,' James asked, feeling a bit disappointed as Cordelia took her hand off of his arm and moved it down to hang beside her, 'or acceptable?'

Cordelia smirked. She folded her arms and relaxed, like she knew a paragraph in response was about to emerge. 'Honest's always good.'

James managed a light chuckle. 'Okay, well—first, I want to find Connor Wilson, and do something to injure him. Because I can't believe that a twat like that would be willing to try something on you—he's not worth it. He doesn't even deserve to be _thinking_ about doing something like that with you because you are... you are _so_ brilliant. And _so_ deserving of something better—don't laugh, it's true. I just want to make Wilson regret even trying that on you but I also want to show everyone in this whole damn establishment—everywhere in the world, if I must—that right now, _I_ am the only bloke who's allowed to fancy you. Who's allowed to think about perhaps snogging you eventually—again, don't laugh, you've _definitely_ thought about what snogging _me _would be like—and basically I want Wilson, and everyone else, to instead go kiss a Dementor. Because _I_, James Potter, am the only one who's allowed to try for brilliance. And in case you don't get it,' he added hastily, 'that's _you_.'

Cordelia smiled, but she didn't leap up and snog him senseless. If she had, James would have reciprocated fully, and enjoyed it very much—_she_ knew that, for sure. But sadly, Cordelia Gilbert did _not_ "leap up" and snog James Potter senseless: no matter what amount of wishful thinking ensued.

'How many girls have you said that to,' Cordelia instead asked. 'That thing about brilliance?'

'Fifteen.'

There was no point in lying to her. Like she'd said: "_Honesty's always good._"

'And,' Cordelia asked, her face not changing: 'how many times have you _meant_ it?'

Now here was a girl who understood how he worked. James grinned, 'once.'


	8. The Unmistakeable Scent

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter; if you've been thinking that up until now, I'm highly flattered—and definitely not talented enough to take credit.

**Catch up:** So, basically, Scorpius and Rose are meeting up for a good snog behind everyone's backs—including Scorpius's best friend, Patricia's—and only Liz Pembridge, one of Rose's best friends is aware. Well, Albus sort of is: he knows how Rose feels. But how does _Albus_ feel? There's a Hufflepuff, Andy, who thinks she knows: does Albus have a thing for Cordelia Gilbert? He shouldn't. Because that's who James fancies. And who might just fancy James back. Barbara is James's partner in Head duties, and she's going out with Miles Clarke, regardless of the fact that everyone keeps going on and on about something to do with Fred—but Fred doesn't fancy her; they're just mates, aren't they?

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

"**The Unmistakeable Scent"**

**Or**

"**Across The Kisser"**

* * *

_**September 14**_

* * *

The whole of Hogwarts seemed to tremble, as though absorbing the impact of the punch, when in reality the only surface the fist came in contact with was the cheek of Miles Clarke, who had clearly said something that deeply displeased Fred Weasley.

'What in the blazing—'

'Don't you bloody _dare_ say something like that again!'

The Hufflepuff boys who had been standing with Clarke at the time of the injury were now watching Fred with wide eyes. In fact, it wasn't just them—it was everyone in the corridor. It was understandable: Fred Weasley had just punched Miles Clarke across the face, and most of the surrounding bystanders didn't know the reason why.

Moments before Fred's fist had collided with Clarke's face, the Hufflepuff had been engaged in a hearty debate on what Gryffindor girls—Barbara Tennant, in particular—would be willing to do after a few dates. Fred, who had been passing by on his way back to the common room from dinner, had been unfortunate enough to overhear some of this jabber.

And, being Barbara's best friend, wanting to preserve her honour, he punched Miles across the face.

There was a cruel shriek from above them. 'Weasley's punched Clarke!_ The Weasel's punched Clarke across the kisser!_'

It was, as expected, Peeves. The poltergeist had remained relatively quiet for just about two weeks, and was now apparently _determined_ to make up for lost time. He and Fred were usually on good terms—Peeves had helped out with many a gag; the funny kind, not the mouth-binding kind—but that grace period was, for the moment, behind them.

Before Fred could threaten him, Peeves zoomed through the ceiling and out into other areas of the school, undoubtedly screaming at the top of his lungs about Fred punching Miles Clarke.

Professor Longbottom, who really did hate to discipline any kind of student, hurried up and assessed the situation. With a look from Miles, who was nursing his bruised cheek, to Fred, whose expression was more annoyed—at Clarke—and disappointed, somewhat, in himself. Because he really didn't want to upset Professor Longbottom.

'So, er—boys, what's going on here?'

Clarke jumped right into his argument. 'I was just talking to my mates—'

'Yeah,' Fred interrupted, 'about what it'd take to get in with _Barbs_—'

'What?'

Clarke glared at Fred. 'Anyway, we were just _talking_, minding our own business, and Weasley goes mental; comes over and punches me in the face!'

'That is _not_ what happened,' Fred told Professor Longbottom sourly, folding his arms. His hand hurt slightly from the impact with Clarke's face.

'Well,' said Professor Longbottom uneasily, 'whatever _did_ happen, and as much as it hurts to say this—Fred, you still punched him, and for that, you're going to have to serve two detentions: Friday night at eight o'clock, and Saturday morning at ten.'

Fred rolled his eyes, but made sure Professor Longbottom didn't think he was being disrespectful. Neville, as Fred knew him outside school, was one of the coolest teachers he'd ever had, and he was usually pretty relaxed about punishment. But Fred understood why he would be forced to do detention: he _had_ just punched Clarke in the face.

But, if it was in defence of Barbara, two detentions didn't really matter.

* * *

'You know, you and the others haven't really done anything this year.'

The library, though not Molly's ideal place for a meet-up with her boyfriend, was fairly empty at eight o'clock, and therefore allowed for a private conversation; provided they didn't talk too loud and anger Madam Pince. There were windows beside their table, overlooking the grounds: the high, backlit turrets of the castle, the multicoloured lights reflecting from the sky to shimmer on the Black Lake, the stars emerging from their places behind the dark, velvet clouds.

Molly looked up from her Charms essay, unsure of what Archie meant. 'What?'

He made a face like he thought it was obvious. 'Your tricks—pranks and stuff. I think you, James, Fred, and that Jess girl...you've gone tame, y'know? Like, you haven't done _anything _this year.'

Molly's eyes raked over the table. 'Well, we've all been pretty busy; and James is Head Boy, so he can't really—'

Archie rolled his eyes. 'Well, yeah, s'pose Head Boy outranks...whatever it was you lot wanted to be called.'

'Marauders Part Two,' Molly muttered. The _first_ James Potter had been Head Boy, and managed to remain a Marauder. So why should her James be any different? To be honest, it was almost like Archie didn't like her family.

'I'm not being malicious,' Archie said, placing a hand on hers, 'it was just a throw-away thought. Forget I said anything, if it's going to bother you.'

Molly set down her quill and took a moment to think. Archie _was_ right: was it any other year, there would have been at least one big trick planned, if not executed to perfection, but this year...not so far. She would have to consult James. She didn't want Archie looking at her that way: like she was some kind of dying star, a disappointment to all astronomers as they watched its brilliance fall away.

No, Molly decided. Something needed to happen. And soon.

* * *

_**September 15**_

* * *

Albus's eyes followed the trail of shimmering sparks, entering the classroom from the hallway, through the crack under the door, up to rest in front of Professor Flitwick's desk; even the old man took a moment to question their origin. Then a loud series of bangs echoed through the walls, making many of the students in the class jump from their seats in shock.

A little letter flew in under the door, landing with a little shiver on Professor Flitwick's desk. The wizard picked it up gingerly.

'Well,' he said, as though he had expected whatever the contents of the letter told him, 'we were almost finished anyway.' He set down his wand and gestured to the rest of them, as if giving the students permission to do the same. 'Pack up your things, I'll let you go as soon as whatever this is in the entrance hall finishes.'

Even though Albus quite liked Charms, he was just as pleased as anyone else to be let out early. He, Lorcan, and Lysander (for the sixth year Gryffindors had Charms with their Ravenclaw classmates) hurried down the stairs and joined the massive crowd of students already collected, watching the display. It wasn't just sparks, like the ones Albus had seen in the Charms room; the hall was lit with bright, multicoloured fireworks, dancing in the air above them, glowing with what was almost _life_. Up in the front, obviously having set off the fireworks themselves, stood James, Fred, Jess, and Molly, almost falling about with laughter; they looked incredibly pleased with themselves.

Albus shrugged his way through the crowd, to where Cordelia and Sarah Boot were watching the display.

'James has really outdone himself,' Sarah commended, somehow knowing Albus had shown up even though her eyes had not left the firework display.

'Knowing them,' Albus said, 'This is nothing. Wait until the grand finale.'

And, as it turned out, Albus was right. Just when the last of the lilac and gold sparks faded away, one last firework went off: spelling out a bright statement of warning that made Cordelia Gilbert cover her face with her hands. Albus, Sarah, and the two Scamanders unknowingly formed a bit of a border around her, just to block out some of the stares that came with the statement. Wilson looked furious.

_Wilson: keep your stinky mitts off Cordelia. She's not on the market._

'Don't freak out,' Albus told her quietly, 'but everyone's looking at you.'

'Oh, Merlin,' Cordelia muttered. Albus watched her cheeks turn pink. 'Please make it stop.'

'I think we can sneak you to Arithmancy if the crowd dissipates a bit.'

Cordelia grinned. 'You're the best, Al.'

'I try to be,' he told her.

After a few minutes, and lots of insane whispering, the students began to make their way to their final lessons. Cordelia and Albus tried to avoid the crowd, shuffling up a few flights of stairs and steering away from anyone who started to say "did Wilson ask you out, Gilbert?" which, after the third floor, no one bothered themselves asking. Albus turned the corner before the Arithmancy room and saw Rose and Scorpius walking not far from each other; it was as if they'd sprung away and tried to create reasonable distance at the sound of footsteps. It was nice for Rose, talking to Scorpius. Albus knew from memory that sometimes, Rose would freeze up in front of a boy she fancied, instead of just being his mate. They'd had many conversations about it in fourth year, when Rose, for a brief time, fancied Kane McLaggen and wanted advice.

'I'm trying to think of conversation topics that aren't Shelley Corner,' Cordelia said, as the two of them entered the class.

The room was empty; except for Rose, Scorpius, Professor Dryden, two Hufflepuffs, Cordelia, and Albus himself: scattered at tables all over the class, which itself was high-ceilinged and made completely of wood, with the wall at the back a complete window; it alerted the people inside to how high up they actually were in the castle.

'Could prove difficult,' Albus replied.

Albus took his seat beside Cordelia, wondering about the fireworks in the entrance hall. James was very...extravagant in his pursuit of a girl. Was Albus given the chance to do something like "stay away from Cordelia Gilbert" in the fireworks display, he didn't really think he would. Albus was more understated, personal: falling for someone was an intimate thing, between you and the person in question—but then again, that was probably why Albus hadn't had many girlfriends, unlike James.

But what was getting into him? He was supposed to be focusing on Arithmancy, fooling around with jokes about Shelley Corner, and talking about how they (meaning, he and Cordelia) needed something else to talk about instead of her. And instead he was daydreaming about, what—_love_? He was sixteen. It didn't seem realistic to let idle thoughts occupy his time.

And why did these idle thoughts have to be about _love_?

* * *

It was eight o'clock, and, as requested, anyone who wished to try out for a place on the Gryffindor Quidditch team had turned up to do so. James stood at the front, facing the small band of Gryffindors—he had already gotten rid of the Hufflepuffs who had tried to make an attempt at joining his team—and hoping for the best.

'All right,' he said, calling their attention. 'Please divide into four sections: Chasers, Beaters, Keepers, and Seekers. In case you don't know, there are three Chasers, two Beaters, one Keeper, and one Seeker in a Quidditch team. There are only two Chaser spots open, because I am automatically on the team, being Captain.'

He watched Fred and Roxanne make their way over to the Beaters section; Albus, Lily, and Felix Thomas to the Chasers; Wood and Kane McLaggen to the Keepers; Barbara alone in the Seekers with a bunch of second and third years, all chattering eagerly amongst themselves.

James assessed the possible players as they first flew around the pitch. After this round—which was really just "can you fly at _all_?"—half the Seekers and about three from each of the other sections were gone. Then, the Chasers were grouped up to go against the Keepers, trying to score. From this, it was down to McLaggen or Wood for the goal-guarding position; Albus, Lily, and two other students from below years as Chasers. James didn't want to be biased, but his siblings were easily the better players of the group. That's simply what resulted of having parents like Harry and Ginny Potter.

The Beaters—those who weren't injured and sent to the hospital wing—slimmed down to Fred, Roxanne, and a second-year named Lukas; Barbara being the first Seeker candidate to catch the Snitch, and remaining with this gold-medal record over the next four trials.

'Okay, so the only decisions I can make as of right now are that Barbara Tennant will be playing Seeker—if she gets injured during a game, June Forrester will play for her'—June Forrester was a short third year, consecutively second place to Barbara in the trials, and just as good a flyer—'and that the Keeper will be Chris Wood: Kane McLaggen as his reserve.'

James wasn't doing this to be soft on his friend, and in reality, Wood and McLaggen were almost evenly matched, but the sixth year boy was overconfident and seemed as though he would rather play every position than let others do so. This was a trait James disliked with a passion.

At the same time, he didn't just want to give Albus and Lily the other Chaser positions then and there. Yes, they were siblings, and yes, they were the best flyers, but if they were chosen right at that moment, James would actually have to _witness_ the defeated candidates' dirty looks. They would insist "Potter's biased! It's 'cause they're _all_ Potters!", even though this was practically the same line-up as the year before, and therefore wasn't biased at all.

And if he was honest, Fred and Roxanne were definitely the Beaters. Lukas the second year was now nursing a bloody lip, from where one of his bottom teeth had cut it after a collision with a Bludger.

'Thanks for that, you lot. It'll be a hard decision, but the list will be up tomorrow in the common room.' He added as an afterthought: 'Your chances won't improve if you badger me during the day, asking when it'll be posted. Asking will just annoy me.'

* * *

_**September 16**_

* * *

_Official Players of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team_

_(Capt.) James Potter _— _Chaser_

_Albus Potter _—_ Chaser_

_Lily Potter _—_ Chaser_

_Barbara Tennant _— _Seeker_

_Fred Weasley _—_ Beater_

_Roxanne Weasley _—_ Beater_

_Christopher Wood _— _Keeper_

'Oh, James!' Barbara threw her arms around him. 'Even though I knew, I-I thought you'd change your mind or something...!'

James patted her on the back as she pulled back. 'Of course not; you were easily the best Seeker there.'

Fred and Roxanne hung a few feet away, grinning at him. Roxanne threw him "thumbs up" and Fred raised his eyebrows in a respectful nod. He could tell the others weren't too happy—Felix Thomas was trying not to frown, and Lukas looked mildly disappointed, but James tried not to dwell on it. He high-fived Wood as he passed, heading out of the common room to take a walk. He really wasn't looking for Cordelia, because he had other things to think about at the moment: Quidditch, his essay for Transfiguration, some Potions thing on the revision of Gamp's theory, avoiding that fifth-year Hufflepuff bird who'd smiled at him on the first day and kept cropping up in random places since...

'Please don't tell me you've come to stalk Cordelia.'

Shelley Corner's voice cut through the air like ice: James had been in solitude so long that he was not accustomed to voices by the time he reached the Quidditch Pitch. Shelley moved from her place two rows in front to take a seat beside him.

'Ravenclaw's tryouts start in ten minutes,' Shelley said. 'But—if she fancies you or if she doesn't—I don't think Cordelia would cotton too well to the Gryffindor captain sneaking in to spy on her line-up.'

'I'm not spying,' James told her, 'I didn't even know Ravenclaw's tryouts were tonight.'

'I don't think she'd believe you,' Shelley said, pointing James's eyes over to the tall girl dressed in the in the Ravenclaw Quidditch uniform, the newest model of broomstick—identical to James's own—leaning over her shoulder. Cordelia began crossing to the middle of the pitch; Shelley and James were far enough away for her not to see them as she unpacked the Quaffle, the Beaters' bats, and everything else in the chest that, twenty-four hours prior, James himself had been unpacking.

The candidates for the team entered the pitch, some dragging their feet, others hurrying along to meet Cordelia. They, unlike the Gryffindors, did not need to be told to gather around and listen. Cordelia shortly explained the positions, and then how tryouts would be run, after which she took attendance from the list Flitwick had given her, and asked the Ravenclaws to separate into the positions they would be trying out with. She set off selecting Seekers first: five trials of who could avoid being tapped on the shoulder by Cordelia—'think of it like a Bludger. If you couldn't dodge my _finger_, you definitely would've been hit'—and out of those not caught, who got their hands on the Snitch first. After this, there was no clear winner, from what James could see; there would have been at least two Ravenclaws who rivalled Barbara's skill. Of these two, Cordelia selected a third year named Gabbie Sterling, who rode a reasonably good broomstick, and had managed to out-fly those on flashy ones.

The Beaters were next: Archie Myers a clear front-runner, hitting all targets including Cordelia's shoulder, which she just laughed off and which made James want to hit his cousin's flat-faced boyfriend. The other Beater was a surprisingly strong fourth year, Reed Connery, who claimed he had played Quidditch all of six times in his life.

The Chasers; only two were being selected due to the fact that Cordelia already was one, were Bridget Davies, who seemed apt enough, and Seth Shaw, who was now in fifth year and had been playing for three. Cordelia, along with her two new recruits, challenged each of the Keeper candidates, the most successful being Will Bowen, a smart bloke from James's Potions class.

The unsuccessful Ravenclaws slouched back to their common room, Cordelia refusing to listen to complaints.

'I'll distract Bridget if you want to talk to her,' Shelley offered, for she and James were the only spectators left at the pitch: Bridget and Cordelia were carrying the chest of equipment back to the sheds by themselves, and the others had gone.

'Why're you so decent?' James asked.

Shelley smiled. 'Because you're trying to be.'

She scooted off the bench and hurried down the stairs; she had almost reached the end of the pitch before James called, 'Shelley!' The girl turned, indicating that she could hear what he wanted to say. 'Thanks.'

And with a nod to show she understood, Shelley went off to distract Bridget. James ran a hand through his hair, though it really didn't need much more messing up. Professor Sprout had been him doing it once, and she had told him that he looked exactly like his grandfather. He supposed this was correct: the major dividing factor between James and his dad was that James had his mother's dark eyes. Apparently, the first James Potter had, too.

But it wasn't history repeating itself because Cordelia really didn't look anything like the first Lily Potter. She had light brown hair, not dark red; her eyes, though almond shaped, were not bright green, but dark. But she was intelligent, like the first Lily. She was definitely good. And now, as James walked up to her, she was smiling, which he _hoped_ his grandmother had done a lot.

'I wasn't spying.'

'Good,' Cordelia said, locking up the shed, 'because then I would've had to hex you, and then report you to Headmistress Sprout.'

'Very "by the book", aren't you, Gilbert?'

'I find that's the best way to be.'

A moment passed in which neither said anything. Then Cordelia seemed to realize she was still in her Quidditch uniform. 'I should go and change out of this,' she said quickly. 'Could you wait a few minutes?'

'I wouldn't mind waiting a few _years_.'

'Really corny.'

'Sorry; _you're_ the one telling me to be caring.'

'Whatever,' Cordelia said, hurrying inside the changing rooms, 'just don't get too romantic—it's only six thirty.'

James heard the swish of clothing on its hanger and the slip of a lock into the latch. It felt like thirty, but was only really three minutes before Cordelia emerged. The Quidditch uniform was slung over her arm, her broomstick in her right hand; she was just wearing jeans and a black sweater, with boots to keep her feet warm. Her hair was still in the Quidditch-playing ponytail, and James noticed it swished as she walked.

'That was an excruciatingly long time apart, wasn't it?' She joked.

James grinned, and they set off down the hall. 'I don't know how I survived.'

'Why _were _you out at the pitch then, if you weren't spying?'

He didn't really want to lie. He wanted to say that he hadn't really been sure, but then he turned up at the pitch, and there was Shelley, and there _she_ was, but that probably didn't sound too good.

'Just walking,' he replied lamely.

Cordelia let it pass: if it seemed stupid to her, she didn't say so. They walked up a couple of flights of stairs in silence; dinner was finished, and almost everyone had headed to their common rooms by now. The pair of them reached the fourth floor before Cordelia asked, 'Are we just going the same way, or are you walking me to the common room?'

'I'd planned to work that in. Why—is that a problem?'

'No, no!' She said quickly, her eyes glinting purple with the light from the torches on the wall. 'Of course not. I just...I wasn't quite sure.'

'So,' he asked, a few moments later, 'did you like the fireworks yesterday?'

Cordelia sighed. 'It was pretty full on. I mean, Al hid me from all the massive staring, but—'

'What _are_ you and Al?' James didn't want to cut across her, but in his desperation and curiosity, he did. And it was a question he had been dying to ask for a long, long time.

'Al and I? We're friends.'

'Are you sure?' James asked, 'because I don't want to be doing all this if you're fancying him—that'd be like leading someone on. Or if you don't fancy him, then does he fancy you?'

Cordelia looked uncomfortable, and made James feel like he'd gone mental. 'Like I said,' she began, voice settled, 'Al and I are _friends_. I don't...I don't fancy him, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't fancy me—I mean, we're _mates_.'

'I'm sorry for freaking you out and acting like a psycho.'

'No, that's—that's just fine, really,' Cordelia assured him. They reached Ravenclaw tower at this moment, and outside the door, in front of the bronze knocker that would undoubtedly ask Cordelia to answer a near impossible question, they turned to each other.

'Well, from what I've seen tonight,' James said, 'I've got a lot to worry about in terms of the Quidditch Cup this year.'

Cordelia grinned. 'I definitely won't go easy on you, _Potter._'

'Oh, is _that_ how it's gonna be?'

She nodded. 'You know it.'

And then, knowing it was the right thing to do, James put an arm around her, squeezed momentarily, and placed a kiss on her cheek. 'Night, Gilbert.'

'Night, Potter.'

* * *

'You _do_ know we should be going to breakfast soon.'

Patricia rolled her eyes. 'I know—I'd already be eating if it weren't for Longbottom's damn essay. I've not even _touched_ the conclusion.'

'Well,' Scorpius said, propping his feet up on the end of the couch, 'you should have done it sooner.'

Finishing another sentence, Patricia groaned. She looked up at her best friend. 'Well, I'm sorry we can't all be Scorpius _bloody_ Malfoy.'

'My middle name's _Hyperion_, actually.'

'I don't know how we're friends. You're such a colossal arse sometimes.'

'You know you love it.'

_The problem is_, thought Patricia, _I do. But I can't help feeling like there's something I should know. Something being kept from me._ She dotted the last "I" in the final body paragraph and moved on to the deathly conclusion, still pondering what it could be that he was hiding. They were together almost constantly, minus his dreaded library trips and his free period while she was in Care of Magical Creatures. It would be difficult to hide _anything_ from her—but no, this was Scorpius. If anyone could do it, he could.

'You know,' offered Scorpius, 'you can see my conclusion if you want, just for ideas.'

Even though she hadn't agreed nor disagreed—in fact, she had given no reply of any kind—Scorpius pulled the parchment out from what seemed like nowhere, and handed his finished essay to her. She darted down a relatively rephrased conclusion and rolled up her completed assignment (no matter how rushed or bad it was, the essay was finished and that was all Patricia could hope for), and the two of them headed to breakfast.

They entered the Great Hall, Scorpius putting a hand out as if to guide her to the Slytherin table, and as he did so, Patricia caught the all too familiar scent of vanilla, the one she had smelled in the corridor and in classrooms and once before even on Scorpius himself, but then she had shrugged it off.

Patricia's mouth fell open. Lingering on Scorpius, perhaps absorbed into his very skin, was the unmistakeable scent of _Rose Weasley._


	9. Weasel and a Snake

**Disclaimer:** As much as I wish it was so, I don't have anything to do with the characters of Harry Potter—well, minus writing fanfiction about the next generation.

**Warning: **I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter in terms of quality. Reviews are warm pumpkin juice on a cloudy November morning.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**"Weasel and a Snake"**

**Or**

**"Completely Hippogriff Mental"**

* * *

_The rest of __**September 17**_

* * *

There seemed to be a lot of punching going around at Hogwarts: Fred hit Miles Clarke, and then, at breakfast, Patricia Day had, instead of taking a seat as she usually would at the Slytherin table, dashed over to the Gryffindor one, on the opposite side of the hall and nailed Rose Weasley, right in the nose. Everyone was watching, including the Professors, and all the other students. Rose's friends: Melissa, Lottie, and Liz, had different expressions: Melissa looked appalled, Lottie managed a glare, while Liz just looked as though she had expected it.

The rest of Rose's family looked furious, but Patricia was so past caring—all she could think of was that this girl, who she _knew_ wasn't as perfect as everyone thought, had been _snogging_ her best friend behind everyone's back.

'What was _that_ for, Day?' Rose cried, hand over her nose.

'_That_,' Patricia screamed, 'was for _Scorpius_!'

Everyone was staring, but Patricia was beyond caring.

'Just found out, did you?'

James stood up, a mixture of confused and furious. 'What are you on about?'

'She,' began Patricia, exhaling after the word. She didn't want to have to explain—everyone was watching, including the Professors, which should have made Patricia feel embarrassed; hell, even _Scorpius_ was watching, but Patricia was still too fuelled to care. She exhaled and kept going: 'needs to explain to me... why I can smell her perfume everywhere... including on my _best friend_.'

'What does she mean, Rose?' James asked again. His cousin's face had gone bright red.

A confident voice came from across the cafeteria: 'Well, it seems that dear, young, furious Patricia has found out about me snogging your cousin for the better part of the past month.'

Every Weasley stood up at Scorpius's words, making it a much larger spectacle than it had been moments ago. Hugo looked disgustedly at his sister, who was now rubbing her nose and scowling at Patricia. 'Is he telling the truth?'

Again, it was Scorpius who spoke: 'Well, I _may_ be a Slytherin—and a Malfoy at that—but it doesn't make me a liar. Besides, even _I_ wouldn't make up something as _scandalous_ as a Weasley-Malfoy relationship.'

He paused, but no one else spoke in his stead. 'This is like that Muggle play—what's it called? _Romeo and_—'

'—_Juliet_,' Rose finished involuntarily. She had Muggle grandparents with a great stock of Shakespeare.

'Yes,' Scorpius said, nodding at her in thanks. '_Romeo and Juliet_. Their families hated each other, but it didn't stop either of them. Then again,' he added thoughtfully, 'they both died in the end, so I don't think that's really very romantic—but minus the suicide, it was two people from enemy families, pardon my language, _getting in_.'

'I don't see how relating this to a Muggle play makes it okay,' Lucy snapped.

'Could've been worse,' Lily muttered, 'I mean, at least he's _attractive_—'

'—Shut up, Lily.'

James looked from Rose, who had finally managed to remove her hand from her now bruised nose, to Scorpius, to whom it seemed the whole thing was incredibly boring. 'You mean to say, you've been snogging _this bloke_ for about a month, and you never told _any of us_?'

'Well, actually, I knew,' Liz Pembridge muttered, sitting with her arms crossed.

'So did I.'

'_Al_?' Fred's eyes widened in what Patricia couldn't decipher between disgust and disbelief.

'Hey! I only knew she fancied him, I didn't know anything about it being a _thing_,' Albus stated defensively. He looked around at the rest of the Great Hall, all of whom were staring. A few of the Professors looked wide-eyed and nervous, others dismissive and a bit disappointed; the remaining Professors were observing the scene as if it was a soap opera playing out right in front of their eyes. Patricia wondered if any of them would snap out of their daze fast enough to sentence her to the detentions she knew she certainly deserved.

'So you knew she fancied a Slytherin,' Roxanne said to Albus, 'and you never _said_ anything? Not even if he was the _Captain of our rival Quidditch team_?'

Rose had had enough. 'Can we forget about Quidditch for thirty seconds? _Yes_, I've been with Scorpius—okay, that's the end of it! You all know now, and you obviously don't condone it, so it's over: that's _it_! Now, _if_ you'll excuse me,' she snapped, her voice controlled, 'I'm going to go and get ready for Hogsmeade; before anyone else can punch me in the face.' She glared again at Patricia, before pushing past her and storming out of the hall.

Over at the teacher's table, Professor Flitwick muttered, 'Why pay for entertainment when you've got the Weasleys to provide it?'

* * *

Scorpius chased her down in the line of students leaving the grounds for Hogsmeade; Patricia hadn't spoken to him since breakfast that morning, when everything about him and Rose was revealed. In the following hours, Peeves had flown around the castle shrieking "_Weasel and a Snake! Weasel and a Snake!_" and terrorizing Scorpius as he tried to find his best friend and make things right. A foot in front of him now, the brunette huffed. He understood why she didn't want to speak to him: lying to her about Rose was dumb, and not something a best friend should have done. If he could have trusted anyone with that information, it would have been Patricia. She crossed her arms, the knit gloves on her fingers a gift from Scorpius himself two birthdays ago—it made him wonder if this, perhaps, was a sign that she might eventually forgive him—and still, Patricia said nothing.

'You know I'm sorry.'

She looked at him like she _didn't_. Even though he had apologized at least thirteen times, his best friend wouldn't budge. The line moved forward slowly, Filch checking off a section of ten students and moving on to the next set. Patricia sniffed. Scorpius was almost surprised when she finally uttered a statement.

'I guessed,' Patricia said. 'I guessed that you were seeing a girl. But you didn't tell me, so I didn't ask. When I smelled her perfume'—and by "her", Scorpius knew she meant Rose—'I tried to ignore it, because I thought you were better than that. I thought you had more sense. But this morning...this morning was the last straw. I knew who it was you'd been seeing. And I couldn't give you the benefit of the doubt anymore.' She exhaled. 'There. I've said my piece. Now please don't ruin the first Hogsmeade trip of our sixth year by annoying me. I'll be with Venice and Ruby.'

Feeling like he'd been punched in the gut, Scorpius complied with her wishes. He would just have to find someone else to spend the subsequent hours with; it could prove difficult, since a majority of the school now fostered nothing but dislike for him—almost everyone would side with Rose in the matter, for she was a girl, and she was a Gryffindor, and most of all she was a _Weasley_, which really set her apart. If he had ended it, like he'd had an inkling to, this whole thing could have been avoided. But Scorpius had made a foolish decision and let Rose have her way with him.

He shuffled through the line without another word, dawdling down the snow-covered lane to Hogsmeade alone, when someone hurried up beside him.

'Don't frown, Malfoy,' Shelley Corner said, 'it makes you look brooding.'

Scorpius hadn't spoken to Shelley since about fourth year, though he knew her by reputation; this reputation had changed lately, becoming a lot more suitable—he and Rose hadn't caught her snogging anyone since Thomas Prikk, which was definitely a low point in her "career". But he was alone, so her reputation didn't really count for anything. She was just someone to walk with.

'Fine,' Shelley grumbled. 'Don't say hello to me. It's not as if I'm a _person_ or—'

'—Hello,' Scorpius cut in. 'You probably think I'm a right prick, don't you?'

'Nah, not really. I mean, I've done my fair share of daft deeds, so I can't judge you for snogging a Weasley. Even if it completely destroyed your friendship with a person who I—to be completely honest—think you should've been snogging instead of Rose.'

'What?' Scorpius spluttered. 'Who—Patricia?'

Shelley laughed. 'Contain your shock, Malfoy. It's simple, really.' She raised her eyebrows when he continued looking at her confusedly. 'Well, for one, your mate Day punched Weasley in the nose when she found out what you two did—instead of hitting you first. Now, I—being a girl—think this means she must at least fancy you a little bit, not to go completely _hippogriff_ mental in your face.'

'That's nuts. Patricia won't even talk to me. I'm by myself now because she said she doesn't want me ruining her Hogsmeade trip.'

'If I was God,' Shelley said philosophically, 'I would ingrain a little pearl of wisdom in your mind: the savage urge to shove little mate Patricia against the wall, and snog her senseless. And you'd do it,' Shelley told him decisively, not letting him cut in, 'because I'd be God and omnipotent over us—I mean _you_—foolish humans.'

Scorpius thought she was insane. Snog_ Patricia_? It wasn't that he hadn't thought about it; to be quite honest, it had haunted his mind a few too many times: a couple of those times occurring when he was, instead, snogging Rose. But this was Patricia, who he had been friends with since the age of nine; since a party at which they had been the only children to attend. Patricia, who was more like a sister than anyone he had ever known.

Patricia, who Scorpius imagined it would feel quite pleasant to snog.

* * *

'Oh no you don't, Potter!' Sarah Boot said, a tone of singsong present in her voice as she crossed the street to where her best friend stood with the tall Gryffindor in question. 'Cordelia's ours for the day.'

James Potter's dazzling smile graced his companions with its presence. 'Can't I have a little while?'

'What—like you have "a little while" every day, and turn it into hours?' Sarah accused. 'The girl needs some time with her mates; and not just the dashing Quidditch players who want to snog her.'

'You say that like there's more than one.' He turned to Cordelia, who was not observing the scene with an amused expression on her face. 'Is there something I should know?'

She chuckled. 'Yeah: the Keeper of the Irish team, both Beaters on Puddlemere United, and one of the Chasers in the Appleby Arrows all want to get me alone in a dark corner and have their wicked way with me.'

'Then I'd best keep you as close as possible.'

Sarah made gagging sounds. 'I can't handle this,' she said. 'Sorry, Cordelia—I'll be in The Three Broomsticks with Bridget if you need me.'

Cordelia almost looked like she was going to respond with "oh, no, I'll come, too" but James didn't let her. Instead, he said: 'You know, "Cordelia" is such a long name. I've _got_ to think of a nickname.'

Cordelia laughed. 'Well,' she told him, 'my grandparents call me "Dilly", but I don't really like the idea of you calling me that. Sometimes people shorten it to "Delia"—'

'Does anyone bother with the first syllable?'

'What—"Cord"?'

'Yeah,' James said. Cordelia shook her head. 'In that case, I'll use that.'

'People might get it mixed up with "chord". You know, with an H?'

James frowned. 'I suppose so. And adding an –S to the end doesn't really make it any better, does it?' When she shook her head again, James wondered: 'How does "Cords-with-no-H" sound to you?'

'It's a bit of a mouthful.'

"Cords-with-no-H" also had the same amount of syllables as the original "Cordelia" did, so it really defeated the purpose of any kind of nickname. James gestured that the two of them could head up the road to what was once Zonko's Joke Shop—it had been replaced by a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes branch when Uncle George bought out the land. The people running it usually differed, and so James supposed it wouldn't be too bad to check in. But he didn't really want to lose sight of Cordelia, because he didn't want to have to butt in on another conversation.

The bell above the door jingled as they entered; the shop was already crowded enough, but finding the Weasley in charge wasn't very difficult. Dominique, slim-faced with devilishly mischievous blue eyes, was standing on the fifth rung of a ladder that allowed her to check on higher produce. James hadn't seen his cousin in at least a month, and when she turned to check out who it was in the shop, they grinned at each other.

'James!' She cried, skittering down the ladder and throwing her arms around him. Hitting her cousin lightly on the arm, Dominique asked, 'so how _are_ things? You know—up at Hogwarts?'

He didn't really want to be the one to tell her about Rose and Scorpius Malfoy. It was taking nearly all James had not to find the boy and hex him. Instead, he scrunched up his nose and said nonchalantly, 'It's pretty boring.'

'Head Boy just as dismal as you thought it'd be?'

James poked his tongue out. 'Your dad was Head Boy, too, you know.'

'Yeah,' Dominique said, sliding her hands into her pockets. 'But he didn't break every rule known to man.'

She led James—and Cordelia, who seemed unsure as to whether or not she was meant to follow, but James took her hand and pulled her along with him—to the front counter of the store. The wall behind it got higher diagonally, holding up the stairs that led to the second floor of the shop; it wasn't as large as the branch in Diagon Alley, but it stocked all the same things. Dominique's eyes travelled from James over to Cordelia beside him, as though she was just noticing her for the first time.

'What are you doing here, Gilbert?'

It wasn't unkind. Dominique was smiling.

'I actually don't know, myself.'

'She's with me,' James said quickly. Both Cordelia and Dominique gave him looks that caused him to hastily regret his choice of words. 'I mean, she's not "_with me_" with me; she's just...we're hanging out.'

Dominique chuckled. 'So; Gilbert... you captaining the Ravenclaw team this year?'

Cordelia nodded.

'Good,' said Dominique, hopping over the top of the counter to stand behind it; she set a jar of puking pastilles back in its place, having almost knocked it over, before she said, 'it's good to have a girl running things for a change.'

A couple of Hufflepuff girls hurried up to the counter with their arms full of merchandise. Cordelia and James stepped aside to make room for Dominique to work. She grinned at the girls, her fingers dancing across the Muggle cash register that Granddad Arthur had re-worked to take galleons, sickles, and knuts instead of Muggle currency. Dominique bagged whatever it was they were buying, and then her attention returned to James and Cordelia.

'I didn't really think you two were mates.'

It was almost like she was assessing them. Thankfully, Cordelia didn't seem to want to tell the Weasley girl about what had happened with them—how complicated things were, especially after that night in the corridor. Neither did James. The number of people in the shop was dissipating now, slowly becoming less and less until it was just Dominique and the two people standing in front of her. Cordelia shrugged.

'We were put together on patrols,' she said casually, as if that was all there was to it. Any other of James's cousins would have had the respect to leave it there, but not Dominique. She laughed. 'That's what James does when he wants to snog a girl—oh, shit,' she said, looking at James, 'have I said something wrong?'

Cordelia grinned. 'Nah, you're okay. Nothing I didn't know about anyway.'

Dominique raised her eyebrows, shooting James an incredulous glance. So things with Cordelia weren't panning out the way things usually did; James had gotten used to it, so therefore everyone else would have to as well. Even if it sent them on a spinner, insisting that he had become a different person altogether. Which wasn't too untrue—it was sappy to say that Cordelia had made him a better person, but in her own special way, she sort of had.

'You've not snogged my dear cousin Jamesie yet, then?'

'To the point, aren't you, Dominique?'

'Oh, shut up, James; let me ask the girl a question.'

'—No,' Cordelia cut across, as if reminding the both of them of her presence. 'I haven't snogged him. James and I are just mates.'

'Mates like "mates mates" or "_mates_"?' Dominique inquired, innuendos heavy. Cordelia told her that they were definitely just platonic, and then excused herself to join Sarah and Bridget in The Three Broomsticks.

* * *

The bar was crowded and musky, but the booth in the corner seemed desolate; the Head Girl sat there, gloved hands wound around a glass half full of butterbeer. Miles Clarke was entertaining her with stories of Quidditch games and the Hufflepuff affairs, occasionally asking a titbit about what life was like in Gryffindor. Barbara suspected he was only doing this to be nice. The light in the room was a faint gold, not because of any underlying beauty, but because the weak yellow lighting caused the numerous glasses of butterbeer around the room to reflect their luscious patterns into the ceiling.

Barbara was in the middle of investigating what properties her drink possessed when Miles looked at her, obviously expecting a reply to what he had been saying. She had zoned out.

'Oh, I'm sorry; I'm just a little bit distracted. What were you saying?'

Her date muttered something that sounded like "typical", before he made amends. 'Your mate: Weasley,' he said, gesturing to a light purple bruise on his cheek. It was set on the top curve of the angular bone; if Barbara had not been aware of its origin, she might have thought it was just a shadow. 'He punched me. Remember?'

She _did_ remember. She had wanted to know what had bought her best friend two detentions from Professor Longbottom, and he had told her why: for punching the boy she was meant to be going on a date with two days later. When she pressed him for details, like the reason behind his aggression, Fred had just blushed and insisted he get to bed.

'Yeah, I do.'

'Well,' Miles said expectantly, 'aren't you going to do anything about it?'

'What?' Barbara asked. 'What do you want me to do? Get Fred to apologize—'

'—why would I want Weasley to apologize? Everyone knows he's as much a prick as any—'

Barbara stood up, her butterbeer teetering in its glass. She didn't care if it spilled now. Glaring at Miles, she pursed her lip. 'What the _hell_ did you just say?' she asked quietly.

The Hufflepuff's eyes widened. 'What?'

'I _said_,' Barbara reiterated, eyes still ablaze with what was now hatred, '_what the hell did you just say_?' The repeated statement was louder, almost a shout. They were getting looks from all over the bar, even though it was bustling with activity.

'Look, Tennant—'

'—my name is Barbara—'

'_Barbara_, then! Calm down, it's fine. Don't get your wand in a knot just because—'

The Head Girl picked up her jug of butterbeer, and flung it in Miles's face. The shimmering drink drenched him—from his scalp, down his chin, right into his clothes. 'Don't you dare say a word against Fred Weasley,' Barbara threatened, malice oozing through her words. She didn't even want to _look_ at Miles Clarke.

Instead, she stomped out of the pub without so much as a glance back to the door that slammed behind her.

* * *

'I've had fun today, Hugo.'

Alana Harris was dressed in a long red coat and black jeans. Her brown hair, curly, was blowing around in the wind of the village lane. Hugo set his hands in his pockets and he smiled.

'Me too.'

Alana took a deep breath. 'You're really brilliant...would you want to hang out again at some point?'

Was she asking him out for a second time? Hugo was incredibly unused to this sort of thing. Today with Alana was the first date he had ever been on; the whole process had been its own kind of nerve-wracking.

'Er—yeah. Definitely,' said Hugo.

They walked up the lane a bit further, and Alana sighed. 'I know you probably don't want to talk about your family, but...I've just been thinking: it must be hard being one of the youngest Weasleys at Hogwarts, you know? All the others have made something of themselves—and not that you haven't, Hugo, because you're great—but in the end, it's just going to be you, Lucy, and Lily in our seventh year.'

'Would it be awful to tell you that I'm not sure where you're going with this?'

Alana looked anxious. She brushed a lock of hair out of her face and glanced behind them, even though they were alone on the road. Though they weren't far away, the lights of Hogsmeade's shops glistened as though distant, under a sheet of glass.

'Do you ever feel pressured to—I don't know, Hugo—act perfect?'

_All the time, but that's part of living up to the family name._

'Well, yeah, but...'

'And, I'm sorry for just going on and on like this,' Alana said, sounding sincerely apologetic, 'but after what happened earlier with your sister'—Hugo really hadn't wanted to talk about Rose, but he understood why conversation would drift there—'I just want you to know that it's okay to make a few mistakes. I'll be there to help you out of them if you want—not saying we'll always be going out, you know, until the end of ever—but if you need a mate, I'm happy to offer.'

'Thanks.'

And Hugo supposed that was the right thing to do: thank her, even if he wasn't sure what her intent had been completely in the first place.

* * *

'Are you _stalking_ me?'

The Hufflepuff girl's wild mane of dark hair shook as her head did. Albus should have been able to smell her from a mile off; the aroma of chocolate and cake mix hung stagnant in the air. Andy chuckled. 'Stalking you? No, of course not!'

'Then why,' Albus pressed, 'did you follow me down the street?'

Andy raised her eyebrows. 'I didn't. I was leaving your uncles' shop and I saw you all alone. You looked a little depressing, Potter,' she added, as though giving advice. 'But while I was in there, I stumbled upon a unique partnership: your brother James, and your Cordelia.' '—she's not _my_ Cordelia—'

'—oh _do_ be quiet, Potter, 'else you'll never hear the end.'

Feeling a bit annoyed, because he really didn't understand why Andy was so insistent in thinking that he fancied Cordelia Gilbert. She was clearly his brother's latest catcher of fancy, and therefore, Albus's relationship was always going to have to be platonic. It wasn't a choice.

'Good,' Andy said decidedly, 'that seems to have shut you up. _So_ I was in there—your uncles' shop—and I was just minding my own business, when I overhear Dominique, who's currently working there, I believe, asking if they're going out. "They" being James and Cordelia, in case you're having a moment of extreme density.'

'And exactly _what _is the point of all this?'

'She said that they were just mates. You still have a chance!'

Albus looked at Andy. 'Look,' he said. 'I don't know why you're so set on this, but really—I don't fancy Cordelia.'

Well, he wasn't exactly sure. Snow was falling on him now, and on Andy. Together, they shuffled out of the snow's path, under the cover of Honeydukes Sweet Shop's outlying roof. The door opened and the scent that wafted out reminded Albus of Cordelia. This he ignored.

'You either don't fancy her,' Andy began sceptically, 'or you just won't admit it.'


	10. A Million Apologies

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Potter series, as I feel the need to reiterate at the beginning of each chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

"**A Million Apologies"**

**Or**

"**French Aristocracy"**

* * *

For James Potter, it was so close that it almost hurt.

For Cordelia Gilbert, denial was stopping it from getting anywhere.

For Fred Weasley, denial was also the problem.

For Barbara Tennant, the same dilemma.

For Scorpius Malfoy, the sheer abstract idea of it was foreign.

For Rose Weasley, past experience proved it unsuccessful.

For Patricia Day, a layer of disappointment was fogging it over.

But so far, we've only touched on some of that.

* * *

_**September 18**_

* * *

Lily couldn't remember the last time either of her brothers had been in love. She sat lounging in the oversized chair by the window in Gryffindor tower, the heat from the fire emanating throughout the room, warming her right cheek as her attention turned away from the common room itself, to the grounds below. People were scattered around the grassy lawn in their various groups, and all the common, stereotypical cliques emerged: shy groups of girls sneaking glances at boys they thought were above them, these boys in question paying next to no attention whatsoever; angry hordes of fifth years confronting one another about nefarious rumours, the occasional love-struck couple embraced near the corner of the trees. At last her eyes fell on her brother Albus: tall, often underappreciated, with a certain air around him that just radiated intelligence.

He was deep in conversation with Lorcan Scamander, Andy (the Hufflepuff, whose last name Lily didn't know), and Cordelia Gilbert, who made Lily sigh with a mixture of slight jealousy, endearment, and a light sense of foreboding which she couldn't quite place.

'What's going on there?' Lily wondered aloud, watching Shelley Corner blunder up and grab Cordelia from the group. There was a short "goodbye" and then Shelley and Cordelia raced off, the latter looking just as confused as Lily felt. When her attention returned to Albus and his companions, Albus was spluttering, wide-eyed about something Andy had said. She knew it was Andy because it was at her that this so rarely occurring bewilderment was aimed. Lorcan was standing beside them, amusement blatant in the smile that was plastered along his face.

'Why does Al look like a boggart that's just met another of its kind?'

Lily hadn't noticed James coming up behind her; he bent over to observe the third Potter child with a humorous curiosity.

'Well,' Lily said, 'first, they were just talking—Al, Andy, Lorcan and that—but Cordelia was there as well.' She ignored James's slight jump and continued, 'then Shelley Corner came over and dragged her—Cordelia—away and Andy said something that made Albus look like a goldfish.'

James nodded his eyebrows, apparently nonchalant. He shrugged and set off up the stairs to his dormitory. Lily called after him, 'is there any specific reason you're going to hang out and be lonely in your room on a _Sunday_?'

'Yes,' James called back, still on his way up the stairs, 'and the reason for that is _shut up_.'

* * *

'Please don't still be mad at me.'

Patricia exhaled, definitely exasperated. She was sitting cross-legged on the couch in front of the chartreuse-tinted fire in the Slytherin common room, having been forced into listening to what Scorpius had to say by Ruby and Venice—'closure,' her dorm-mates had said, 'is important. And if you don't want closure, at least listen to his side of the story.'—her hair fell in long brown sheets down either side of her face, spilling over her back in loose curls that she hadn't intended to have. Despite the annoyed expression on her face, Scorpius looked desperate enough to make her cave and listen. For the sake of their practically disintegrated friendship, at least.

'I'm not mad at you,' she said. 'I'm disappointed—I don't like being lied to.'

'I know,' Scorpius replied, looking at her from the other side of the couch. Thankfully, they had been undisturbed throughout this, though it might have been the fact that Slytherins were giving Scorpius a wide berth after finding out what had happened with Rose. 'And I'm sorry—I'll say it a million times if I have to.'

'You don't,' she snapped. 'But I think I need more than two days to get over'—Patricia paused, trying to find the right word to describe their situation, and in her failure, settling for—'_this_.'

Scorpius stayed silent.

'Was she worth it?' Patricia asked. 'You _knew_ I didn't like her, Scorpius. Was Weasley worth it?'

To this, the answer came at once. 'No.' Then, with more force, 'no, she wasn't.'

Patricia sniffed. It wasn't that the answer had been positive to Rose's favour, but she still felt as though she wanted to cry. She didn't know why—Scorpius's answer had been a good one: their friendship meant more to him than a month's worth of kisses from a smart, albeit occasionally haughty, Gryffindor—but still, Patricia remained unsure. Any girl apart from Rose would have been easier to handle; even Shelley Corner wouldn't have made her hurt this badly. Scorpius had always caught girls' eyes, and Patricia knew that: he had all the appeal and talent that the Potters and the Weasleys did, but he had that darker element, the dangerous Slytherin allure. All this time, he had acted as though he didn't care, like all the attention didn't matter to him. Patricia had told herself that it wouldn't always be like this, that there would come a time that Scorpius would find someone he liked, and make a girlfriend of them, and she knew it wouldn't be her.

She just really wished that it hadn't been Rose Weasley.

'Please don't lie to me.'

Scorpius's eyes widened, a jolt of misery crossing his face. 'I'm not,' he stammered. 'I wouldn't. Why won't you believe me?'

'_Why didn't you tell me about her_?' Patricia insisted. 'I'm your best friend—Merlin, I _thought_ I was! If you couldn't tell me, who could you tell?'

'I couldn't tell anyone!' Scorpius cried. 'Tell me you wouldn't have judged me if I had: tell me you would've been okay with it.'

Anger surged through her, running from the end of each strand of hair on her head to the tips of her limbs, and Patricia replied: 'Of course I wouldn't have been! I don't like Rose Weasley—'

'Why not, though?' Scorpius pressed. It wasn't a question in Rose's defence, it wasn't a "give her a chance" gesture. The sheer maliciousness of his tone as it took on a new note made Patricia nervous, despite her anger. 'You don't like her—why not? I think I know why, Patricia; I think I know why you hate Rose so much.'

_Do you? Do you really?_

'You're jealous of her.'

Patricia wasn't jealous of Rose's intelligence, because knowledge can only get you so far. She wasn't jealous of her looks, because such things fade. She wasn't jealous of anything else Rose had going for her, because she really couldn't see what was so great. Everything fantastic about Rose was her family: her _parents_ had defeated Voldemort, not Rose herself. Sure, Patricia was eternally grateful to the Weasleys and Potters of previous years—of previous _generations_—and being a Slytherin didn't change that. But none of that had anything to do with Rose.

But really, she was only jealous of one thing Rose had ever been in possession of. It wasn't a material object. It wasn't a reputation, or a name. It wasn't fame.

It was Scorpius.

* * *

Shelley Corner was on her way to dinner when Thomas Prikk pulled her aside. His grip, vice-like on her upper arm, would certainly leave a bruise. Shelley contemplated hexing him; her wand was in her back pocket, she could do it if she wanted to. He was slow enough that she would probably get away with it. But then she remembered that Prikk had knowledge of magic that even she—as demented as she was—wouldn't dare to try. This thought sobered her up.

'Let go of me, Prikk.'

'I don't think I can do that,' he said, pulling her behind a statue, hiding them from view. 'You see—we had an arrangement.'

'What—can't get anything now that Goyle's dumped your scummy arse?'

Prikk smirked. 'Who are you kidding, Corner? Really?'

Shelley glared at him. She didn't like his tone: it made her feel small, like she was a child who had done something wrong, and he was an adult who'd gotten tired of the routine. 'What are you talking about?' she snapped.

'You know,' he said. _No I don't_, Shelley thought, _otherwise I wouldn't be asking you_. 'Who are you trying to fool; who would be stupid enough to fall for that dumb change-up?' He leaned closer; Shelley tried to recoil, but there wasn't anywhere to go. They were backed up into a corner, behind a stone statue that she definitely couldn't move. 'You can change your clothes, you can change your make-up—hell, you can pretend to be a clone of Cordelia Gilbert, all perfect and quiet and sensible.' Shelley's face flushed. 'But you and I both know you will _never_ stop being who you are, Corner. You'll never change your past; what you've done. You'll never stop being a slut.'

'Shelley?'

Prikk wheeled around, letting his hand slide from her arm. Shelley swallowed. Coming around the corner was James Potter: tall, dark and handsome—beating all fairytale heroes without even having to try. He caught sight of what was happening: Prikk looking fearsome and oafish, as usual, standing over a frightened Shelley.

'I don't think you understand the first thing about girls, Prikk,' James said.

'Piss off, Potter.'

James raised his eyebrows. 'Touchy,' he noticed. He raised his arms in a surrendering gesture, but then dropped them quickly, saying, 'I've got a proposition for you, _Prikk_. I'll take Shelley from here, and escort her to dinner, where I'm assuming she was on her way to when you grabbed her. And in exchange for letting me take such a _fine_ woman to a more fitting location, I'll let you keep the contents of your trousers. Presuming you haven't forgotten how to change your underwear and accidently soiled them,' James added, putting a hand out for Shelley to take and lifting her away from Prikk, who now looked both angrier than either of them had ever seen him, but also the most like a troll.

'Thanks for that, James,' Shelley said, the two of them returning to the familiar lights of the entrance hall.

'No problem,' he replied. Then, concernedly: 'He didn't hurt you, did he?'

Shelley shook her head, touched that James at least had the sense to act like he cared. In the beckoning light of the Great Hall, she could see the planes of his face; the smooth, slanted nose, the angles of his cheekbones, drawing down to his sculpted jaw, athletically narrowed to a chiseled point. He was definitely one of the most attractive people she had ever seen. Shelley felt plain by comparison.

'Do you want me to hang around until your mates get here?' James asked. He seemed anxious to leave her alone while Prikk still had his vitals.

'No, you don't need to worry—look,' she said, gesturing to Cordelia and Tabitha Perkins—_frightfully shy girl_, Shelley had time to think, judging by the way she walked: afraid of everything and everyone—who were on their way down the stairs. 'Thanks for the offer, though.'

'Any time,' James guaranteed.

'I'll put in the good word with Cordelia,' Shelley added, watching her housemate approaching. James grinned and departed, leaving Shelley to greet her friends and wonder why in the world she felt downhearted as she offered to help the Head Boy get a date.

* * *

_**September 19**_

* * *

Fred Weasley had taken a strong dislike to Monday mornings over the course of his academic career. However, with only History of Magic, a double period of Charms, Herbology, and Potions, perhaps things were starting to look more optimistic. James had posted a bulletin scheduling a practice for the Gryffindor Quidditch team at seven o'clock that night, which—although it cut into the time Fred probably couldn't afford to lose for the completion of his Potions essay—only made his longing for the days completion even more potent.

The walk from breakfast to History of Magic wasn't too long, and so Fred didn't mind making the trip alone; James had hung back to make sure everyone on the Quidditch team was aware of their practice, and Molly and Barbara were too wrapped up in conversation about the Holyhead Harpies to focus on who they were walking with; Barbara had almost crashed into two third-years leaving the Great Hall, and Fred didn't think that her clumsiness would improve any time soon. He entered the classroom alone.

Professor Binns looked up from the book he was investigating, and turned back to it when he realized it was "just another student of the Weasley lot". Fred guessed that, over Binns's time at Hogwarts, his family had been constant, ever-present from generation to generation. Archie Myers and his friends were sat together up the back, apparently eager to push latecomers towards the front, where at least a _try_ for vigilance and concentration was more highly expected. A couple of Hufflepuffs were speckled around the room; Miles Clarke one of them, though he did not seem eager to meet Fred's eye after what happened last time he met any part of Fred's anatomy—Fred's fist, with his face, for one.

Barbara and Molly shuffled in the room, James and Wood close behind. Miles Clarke made a disparaging noise.

'Don't concern yourself,' Barbara said to Fred as she took a seat in the row beside him. 'He's just sour because our date didn't go well.'

'Really?' he asked, hoping that his tone hadn't sounded to desperate. 'I mean—what happened?'

The Head Girl took out her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_, even though the chances of using it were dim. These days, Binns usually just lectured on and on about nothing in particular, and expected them to take a decent amount of notes, which Fred didn't usually uphold. Most of the time, these random lectures were something to do with his family, and so it was really just reliving what his grandmother had told anecdotes of three Christmases ago, or something of the same familiarity.

'I threw butterbeer in his face.'

'You didn't!' Fred grinned despite his curiosity, unable to help but look at her and marvel. Barbara raised her eyebrows fleetingly, gesturing that _yes_, _she did_. 'But I thought dramatics were more Molly's style—what made you do it?'

'Well, to put it bluntly,' Barbara's voice shot down in volume as Professor Binns began speaking, 'he said you were a prick or something like that, and then... yeah. Butterbeer in his face.' She turned to look at him. 'It was like he was trying to get me to _agree_ with him that you punching him was wrong—how could I have? You're my best mate, and I don't even know _why_ you punched him, so I couldn't exactly—'

She leaned over the empty sheet of parchment and began copying Binns's lecture down with brilliant drive. Fred couldn't have accomplished this, no matter what his motivation. All the thoughts in his mind were now revolving around the fact that Barbara had thrown butterbeer in Miles Clarke's face—in _public_—because he had said something against Fred. He tried to imagine the scene: Barbara and Clarke, sitting in The Three Broomsticks, mugs of butterbeer in front of them; he imagined Barbara standing up, her long, black hair spilling over her shoulders, picking up the glass and—_splash_—the entirety of its contents smashing Clarke right in his annoying, fraudulent face.

It was all he could think about all through the lesson; when James glanced over half-way through, as Binns mentioned the forming of the Order of the Phoenix, he told Fred that he'd sucker Barbara into letting him borrow her notes, even though neither of the boys really needed them. Of course the mention of her—that she was a real, tangible person—didn't really help Fred's case at all.

He was in the same, semi-isolated state—almost _comatose_ to the outside world—all through double Charms, where somehow he managed to conjure up a good enough version of whatever it was they were meant to be learning for Flitwick to be satisfied with him, before sending them all out to lunch.

'Are you all right?' Molly's voice cut into his reverie on the way down to the Great Hall. At Fred's befuddled expression, she stated, 'You look like a right tosser—like Barbara's snogged you senseless.'

Fred and Barbara, who was a stair or two behind, both jumped slightly. Molly didn't seem to notice; all she said was, '_that's_ got you back to normal, now hasn't it? Honestly, Fred, I'm starting to think you need a bit.'

'A bit of what?'

'A bit of _snogging_,' said Molly, as though Fred was stupid. 'Don't look so holy; when was the last time you kissed anyone?'

Fred scratched his head. He hadn't had a proper girlfriend since fifth year. Last time he kissed anyone, though... it was probably December of his sixth year, when mistletoe had hung in bunches off practically ever doorway in the school. He and Barbara had been late for Quidditch practice—she had dragged him to the library to find Volume 13 of some Potions book she needed—and they'd hurried out of the changing rooms to find an infamous sprig hanging above the door. He remembered mime-kissing her, like they were both French nobility; it was all jokey and fun, but right now he wished it wasn't. 'I don't know—last Christmas?'

'Aunt Mildred doesn't count—'

'—I wasn't talking about _Aunt Mildred_—'

'—then who _were_ you talking about?' asked Molly. 'Oh, do tell.'

Fred froze: if he said anything about Barbara, then she might take it the wrong way, like that joking moment of French aristocracy was the best moment of his life—but if he _didn't_ say it, she was right there and would _know_ he was lying, and then would probably wonder why he had lied by not mentioning it.

He was surprised when Barbara's voice cut through the air, humorous in tone. 'It was me, wasn't it?' The Head Girl cut to explaining once the rest of their company looked confused. 'I suppose it wasn't real kissing, so to speak; last Christmas, before one of the Quidditch practices—'

'—don't tell me you two...'

'—_no_—shut up, James, and let me finish: we were late for Quidditch, and there was all that mistletoe about, so we made a joke about it. You know when Louis's aunt Gabrielle came to stay?' Barbara checked for affirmation before continuing. 'And you know how there's all that extravagant cheek-kissing and stuff?'

'Can't say I minded it,' James cut in, '_very_ attractive woman.'

Barbara said, 'well, yeah, we just did that. Though I don't think that counts as a proper snog, so...'

They were now at the door of the Great Hall. Molly's expression molded into something that almost made Fred worried. 'Well,' she said, looking sly. 'You never mentioned that, _Freddo_.'

* * *

_**September 20**_

* * *

It was five in the afternoon when Shelley was calm enough to ask what she had been trying to work up to. The Ravenclaw dormitory was mostly empty, but all of the sixth-year girls had found their way back there to finish up what they needed done before dinner. Pulling up from where she had been resting on a stack of pillows, Shelley inquired: 'So you and James aren't...?'

Cordelia, who was finishing an essay, looked up from the comfort of her four-poster bed. She brushed a lock of light brown hair, curled at the end, out of her face and Shelley watched her eyebrows scrunch slightly in confusion. 'No,' the Prefect said quietly: it could have been an absentminded comment, but Cordelia seemed too confused to remain completely unconcerned. 'We're—we're just friends.'

'Doesn't seem that way to me,' Sarah scoffed.

Shelley rolled her eyes. Cordelia was sweet; she was smart, and pretty enough, really—Shelley _did_ like her, but she wasn't sure what was so appealing. Well, rather, she didn't see what _James_ felt was appealing. James was a _Potter_: he could have any girl he wanted—why bother waiting, pining, over the only girl who would ever say "no"? She had tried to wait, to give Cordelia time before she initially tried anything on James, because he seemed like he really did fancy her, and Shelley was trying to be nice, and all kinds of charitable—but it had been over a week since the main event, no matter what any other meetings entailed. Cordelia returned to her essay, apparently brushing off Shelley's interest after Sarah had said something to debunk any curiosity.

'So,' Shelley began, treading lightly, 'you wouldn't mind if I asked him out?'

There was a universal clatter around the room. Tabitha's butterbeer, which she had spent some time trying to sneak back into the castle, clattered to the floor as the girl looked up from her bed in the corner, her eyes wide. Her expression was reprinted on Bridget's face, mixed with a little more frustration and anger—Bridget had been reading, and at Shelley's question, the hefty book had fallen right onto her toes, which the girl was rubbing tenderly between fuming looks. Sarah had actually been leaning over to get something from her bedside, and fallen completely off the bed into the gap between her four-poster and Cordelia's. Cordelia herself was looking vacant. Not a stupid, fuddy-duddy kind of vacant. The kind of vacant where, although something is eating at you wholeheartedly, you don't dare show it.

Cordelia's voice didn't waver as Shelley had expected it to. 'I'm not sure. I thought you weren't going to do that any more.'

'What?' Shelley snapped, suddenly defensive. '_Date_—like a _normal_ person? Like everyone does?'

Cordelia shook her head. 'No, of course you can date. I didn't mean—'

'—Look, I like you, Cordelia,' Shelley tried, 'I really do, but who have we been _kidding_? I'm not cut out for fading into the shadows. If I want something, I take it—that trait didn't die down when you tried to dilute my wardrobe. You've helped me—you _all _have—but you made a bit of a foolish decision.'

Cordelia's eyebrows arched up, like she was interested in what her housemate was going to say next. 'You had your chance with James,' Shelley continued. 'And you said "no"; for whatever reason, you said "no". Doesn't that give us a little leverage to say "yes" if we want to?'

'Of course it does, Shelley.' Cordelia stood from her bed: essay completed. 'But I think you should wait until there's something to say "yes" _to_. Rather than run off and ask him out as soon as he's done one nice thing for you.'

Shelley couldn't help but glare. She pushed her hair behind her shoulder and rested her hands on her hips. But it wasn't as though Cordelia was just going to sit back and take the hit. She, too, much taller than Shelley, was glaring. She wouldn't fight, though, and Shelley knew it. Cordelia was one of those people who would back down if violence threatened. She was too much of a do-gooder to have at it. That's what kept Shelley going: this new feeling of superiority over the Quidditch captain.

Suddenly, Shelley turned around and snatched up her coat. She pulled it around her, feeling at the leather as it slid across her arms; the fake fur tickling her neck. She was already wearing a skirt, and her leggings. Cordelia and the others watched as she pulled on a matching pair of boots. 'You lot have provided some nice evening theatre,' she said lightly, as if tasting the way the new malice felt on her lips, 'but if you don't mind, I'd like to move on to some _real_ entertainment.'

Before any of them could say anything, she flung open the door to the dormitory and strutted out.


	11. Calm and Clumsy

**Disclaimer:** Incredibly depressingly, Potter's not mine.

**AN:** I just thought I'd take the time to say, if you're reading this, then I am forever indebted to you—you're the best! Reviewing this story would be the hundreds-and-thousands sprinkles on top of an ice cream. (Which isn't something I have eaten recently, I just had to think of something witty and I hope that sufficed.)

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

"**Calm and Clumsy"**

**Or**

"_**So**_** Yesterday"**

* * *

_**September 21**_

* * *

Though none of the girls in her dormitory would speak to her, breakfast had gone satisfactorily for Shelley Corner. It wasn't as though she had actually gone and _snogged_ James, which was probably what they all assumed, she _had_ gone and found him, but only to talk. Well, this hadn't actually been her intention, but he had been busy—in the _library_—of all places, and only after Molly finished her Ancient Runes assignment and left did Shelley actually have a chance to interact.

She had come off as more of a sister than she had intended—actually, not a "sister" so much as a friend, but to Shelley they were one in the same; in that neither would get her any closer to kissing James Potter—and had noticed this about halfway through their conversation: noting that she would _definitely_ have to up her game to vie for his attention.

To put it bluntly: he had not reciprocated.

So Shelley was now seeking him out on her way to her first lesson: Divination, in hopes that she could rekindle whatever chance had been laid on the table. She would have offered to give James the same fate as the metaphorical "chance", but his mind seemed otherwise occupied.

'James!' she called. Thankfully, he was just walking with Wood, who she did not have the time of day to care about. 'James!'

The Head Boy turned around, acknowledged her, and told Wood to go on. 'Shelley,' he rejoined; with an uneasy expression, he asked, 'is this about yesterday?'

'What—last night?' Shelley waved her arms around in the negative; which was a lie: in fact, the conversation would have steered to the previous evening's activities had he seemed more open to it. 'God, honey, no. I was _daft_ last night—don't know _what_ firewhiskey I'd found and got into, but I swear: I didn't want things to pan out that way.'

Which, in fact, she _did_. She wished he had been less abstemious about her advances—he was the first who batted them off without so much as a glance: perhaps this was another of the various traits (such as Quidditch captaincy) that James and Cordelia shared, the use of "no" in situations when it would have definitely been wise to say "yes". And, of course, now that the girl had graced Shelley's mind, she would most probably grace the conversation with her presence as well. If not physical, then by mention. And how right Shelley had been.

'Good,' James said—for the words of Cordelia _did_ come from him—'because I thought I'd made it pretty clear that I fancy Cordelia.'

'You're too good a guy, James.' Shelley told him, as though telling him of a disease or affliction. 'But how are you sure Cordelia feels the same way? I mean...I don't know what happened that night with you two—all I know is that I wasn't there and she said "no"—but have you ever heard Cordelia say she wanted you guys to be more than friends?' James didn't speak (which could have been for any reason, but Shelley held it to prove her claim). 'I didn't think so. She's a nice girl, but I've got the feeling she doesn't know what's on offer.'

James looked uncertain. 'What do you mean?'

'You _know_ what I mean, James, don't lie.' She put a manicured hand on his arm, which she knew wasn't welcome, but she ignored the fact. 'She doesn't appreciate you—who starts your conversations, huh? _You_, James. It's always you.' The Head Boy looked displeased. With a light tone, Shelley continued: 'Don't look so miserable, Potter...she doesn't deserve it.'

Looking annoyed, like he didn't believe a thing Shelley had said, James asked, 'Do you really know her?'

'Do _you_?'

Suddenly, though, James's tone was pleading. He was far from the games she wanted to play. Instead, he sounded tired, strained. 'Shelley... please don't do this.' For a moment, Shelley felt guilty—a feeling which quickly dissipated.

'Please,' James said again. The words he uttered next really did break her heart: 'This is the one time I haven't quite messed things up with a girl I fancy and just... please.'

Shelley exhaled. 'We're not friends, you and I, and I won't pretend to like it, but if that's what you're saying...'

'It is.'

'Then... fine. For your sake. Not hers.'

James's eyes glinted. 'I wouldn't have expected any more.'

With that, the two parted ways. Shelley couldn't quite tell, on her way up the stairs to the ladder to the tower room that housed Professor Trelawney, how she felt about the outcome of the exchange. It had gotten her nowhere: the only words of expression were the ones that told of how much James preferred Cordelia to Shelley—this was not the meaning he had said, but it was easily warranted implication—and this hurt her quite a bit.

But of course, this was only one battle. "Lose the battle, win the war," as some had said. And so Shelley set this as her goal. She had lost the battle—one which she now named, for all intents and purposes, "The Battle of the Lion and the Eagle"—but she would not, under any circumstances, lose the war.

* * *

'I saw Shelley talking to James earlier,' Albus began, trying to begin the conversation with something easygoing—and what was easier-going than their usual Arithmancy topic: the trials and tribulations of Shelley Corner?

Though, really, he felt as though he should have known that anything concerning James and Shelley would not be something "easygoing" for Cordelia to hear.

'Was she snogging him?' the Ravenclaw inquired, not looking up from the chart she was trying to memorize. Her long, slim fingers—slightly freckled between the first and second knuckles—ran across the chart, as though this technique would help her focus.

'No,' he affirmed, 'It was definitely very casual; even though James looked incredibly uncomfortable.'

'I don't blame him,' said Cordelia. Her eyes had still not left the chart, though she was about two rows further down the page. Pausing a moment, for he was curious and she was inattentive, Albus observed Cordelia's frame; the intent with which he did this was not _seedy_ or repulsive: he was simply being observant, and all the word entailed. Her hair was pulled up today, almost perfectly collected in a tie, allowing the length of her light brown tresses—a word he had learned in History of Magic, which meant a long lock of hair but sounded three times more exotic and intelligent and interesting—to fall from the place of its binding to curve against her shoulder blades; she had rather willowy, fine limbs for someone who was so athletic.

'Have you two had a fight?' Albus heard himself ask.

This time, Cordelia looked up. 'Who—me and James or me and Shelley?'

'You and Shelley. Or you and James. Whichever suffices.'

She sighed. 'Shelley and I _did_ have an argument: yesterday, she said that I had, basically, wasted my chance with James by saying "no", and that she deserved a shot instead. To say "yes".'

'But he doesn't want to go out with Shelley!'

Cordelia nodded, like Albus understood something many did not, and she pointed her quill at him. 'That's what I was trying to tell her,' she said, 'but Miss "It Doesn't Hurt To Ask Even If Cordelia Fancies Him Because She Said No A Couple Of Weeks Ago So It Shouldn't Matter Even Though They've Definitely Been Spending Time Together And Things Like That" wouldn't listen.'

From this longwinded phrase, Albus only got one piece of information. 'So you _do_ fancy James?'

Cordelia nodded sheepishly. She returned to her chart. 'This probably feels like I've gone over to the dark side, hasn't it? Here we've been, for almost a month, making fun of James and the girls he's snogged, and now I've actually become one of the fanciers. Ridiculous,' she said to herself in an undertone.

'Nah,' Albus replied. 'But,' he admitted, 'It would have been nice to—for once—have a girl for a friend and _not_ have her want to snog my brother.'

Cordelia frowned. 'I know, Al, and I'm sorry, it's just...'

'I know. He's _James Potter_.'

She rolled her eyes. 'You think I fancy the guy we used to make jokes about? The "James Potter" of reputation? You _must_ think I'm deluded.' Cordelia made amends: 'No, I don't fancy _that_ James: snogger of girls and prankster of the law-abiding—I prefer the other half of James.'

'Don't get metaphorical.'

Cordelia slapped him on the arm. 'Oh, shut up, Al! I mean—I like James 'cause he's nice, and smart, and good at Quidditch.'

'Is height part of it?'

'You're just as tall as me, if not taller; height's part of it, yes, but if that was it—you two would sound the same by description.' Seeing his face, Cordelia hurried: 'I'm not using your older brother as a symbolic way of telling you I'm in love with you; don't worry. You and I are just mates.'

'Yeah,' Albus echoed, 'just mates.'

* * *

_**September 22**_

* * *

The final notice of Scorpius Malfoy's reprieve came with: 'Fine, you tosser, I forgive you.' This would seem a very anticlimactic, harsh statement to most, but Patricia had been Scorpius's best friend since before their Hogwarts schooling even began, and so their terms of endearment were somewhat more skewed than that of their classmates.

They were sitting at lunch when the thousands of apologies Scorpius had issued were accepted: Patricia had been sitting with a couple of girls in her dorm, when she had looked over to find Scorpius a little way down the table, not in the company of _his_ dorm-mates, even though he very easily could have been. Instead, he seemed to be enjoying his lunchtime by spending it frowning into his peas, a great look of sorrow on his face.

Patricia knew he liked peas well enough and therefore his discomfort wasn't their fault, so she stood up and went to sit with him as she would have a week previous, bringing her plate with her.

It was then she had said it. _Fine, you tosser, I forgive you_.

'Well, that's brilliant,' he had replied, grinning at her. 'Because I was beginning to think the peas might get the impression they're upsetting me if I kept up the pout.'

'We couldn't have that, now could we?' Patricia joked. She was happy things were settled, even if they had only been so for about thirty seconds. She wasn't completely all right with the "Rose" issue, but Scorpius meant too much to her for their friendship to be lost at the hands of a Weasley. It was also nice to hear things coming out of Scorpius's mouth that weren't "I'm sorry".

'So we're mates—you know, all unnecessary, mental stuff behind us?'

Patricia nodded, as if it was obvious. 'Shut up and eat your peas, Malfoy.'

'I love it when you talk dirty to me.'

'Do you _want_ me to shove that plate down your throat?'

'Not helping your cause.'

'I know,' she said, scowling at him. 'Now eat the peas. We need to get to History of Magic.'

* * *

'Thank _God_ for you three,' Rose said for what seemed like the millionth time. History of Magic was almost at an end, and—with practically _none_ of her family talking to her (including her father; _for foolish, childish reasons_, her mother's letter had said)—she was grateful to have her best friends. Even Liz had come round, her reasoning being: "well, I s'pose you'd got your come-uppance after being punched in the face and basically slagged off in front of the entire school".

Some of her Professors still wouldn't look her in the eye, which Rose blamed Patricia Day for. If it hadn't been the Great Hall, and hadn't turned into a circulation of dramatics, then perhaps things would have been all right. But now, apparently, Rose had "tarnished the name of Weasley" and her mother's reputation as Hogwarts's Most Perfect Student In The History Of Ever (of course, this was completely made up—the award would probably go to some person like Lily Potter the first or Cordelia _sodding_ Gilbert, but Rose wouldn't let herself get annoyed) in the process.

Lottie and Melissa had been pretty annoyed at first, not because of who it was Rose had been going out with—'no, it's not that. Scorpius is _well _fit'—but because of the secrecy. If she couldn't tell her best friends, who could she trust?

After about three hours of moping together and acting bothered, though, the two of them had come around.

'I know,' Lottie said; she was at a level of non-concentration that she had actually gotten around to painting her nails instead of taking notes on goblin rebellions. 'What _would_ you do without us?'

'I'd imagine she'd survive,' Liz put in, 'but she'd probably end up snogging a complete _prick_ behind the Quidditch pitch.'

'Couldn't get any worse than Shelley Corner,' Lottie reasoned, a little bit cruel.

'Come on, guys,' Melissa tried to say, 'she can't help that—'

'—What, she's a skank?'

'Oh, _do_ shut up, Lottie.'

Lottie finished with the polishing of her left hand, moving shakily onto the right. If she messed up, she could just use a charm to get rid of the smudges. She poked her tongue out. 'Don't tell me what to do, Liz!'

There were about ten minutes left in the lesson, and Rose decided that, unless Binns broke out into a spontaneous song and dance routine and sprouted about fifteen important facts that would most _definitely_ be appearing in their final exams, she would not need to take any more notes. She rolled up the parchment and slid it into her bag as Professor Binns told Evan Cadwallader: 'Don't start packing up just yet, Cinderblock; there's nine minutes before class adjourns!' A few in the class spared a laugh at Binns's continued habit of not paying attention to _any_ of their proper names—Rose herself had been "Wimbledon", "Winterbourne", and "Water-closet" about three times each—but most of her classmates just continued to pack up, albeit much more quietly.

'I know he snogged Shelley Corner, and he's still got a bruise on his left forearm where Prikk hexed him during the fight, but Devon Henry's rightly fit, and I feel like I should tell him so.'

Melissa smirked. 'Merlin, Lottie, for someone who nags about Corner being a tart, you're definitely following in her footsteps.'

Lottie, who had just finished her right pinkie and was now using her wand to siphon off any excess nail polish, ignored her. Rose still felt a bit rotten about the fact that she'd managed to have a fall out with practically her entire family over Scorpius, but she couldn't let it get to her. Still, she would have thought that at least Molly or Lily would sympathize—Lily was only fourteen, yes, but if she ever made a comment about perhaps snogging anyone, or getting into any kind of relationship at all, James pounced like a rabid kneazle and started lecturing about things that made him sound like a total hypocrite, because he couldn't say any of his relationships had ever been savoury—but no such luck. Even _they_ couldn't be swayed by the idea of "but what if the family disapproved of _your_ boyfriend? Would you want me to join them?"

But perhaps Molly knew what that whole thing was like, to a certain degree, because she was going out with Saucepan Face Myers, and the other Weasleys had been giving her nothing but jokes about it; Rose remembered one about having to wash Myers's face in the Hogwarts kitchen. And then she justified that things weren't the same, because the Weasley and Myers families didn't hate each other.

'Don't space out, mate.'

Rose snapped out of her contemplative daydream at the sound of Liz's voice. 'It's time to go already?'

'Well, _yeah_.' Liz told her. 'Where have you been the last eight minutes?'

'Sorry—lots on my mind.'

Liz nodded, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder. 'Clearly.' They exited the classroom behind Cadwallader/Cinderblock and his friends. Liz continued: 'Anyway, the others are off to Care of Magical Creatures, which takes _us_ to Ancient Runes.'

'And,' Rose stated idealistically, 'after Ancient Runes, the day is over.'

* * *

_**September 23**_

* * *

The Head Boy's voice cut through the air like a blade; even from the other side of the Quidditch pitch, Barbara could hear him.

'That was good, but it wouldn't have worked—anyone with strong enough strategic thinking could have raced right through and blocked your way.'

Lily nodded, though she looked close to an eye roll. Barbara wouldn't have blamed her. She _did_ understand why James was acting so stressed: the first game of the year was coming up, just over a week from today. Gryffindor against Slytherin, and the Weasleys had enough to settle against Malfoy. Being a Tennant, however, Barbara had managed to stay far enough away from family feuds; she tried to do the same in this situation, even though it was she who would be tailing Scorpius, as the opposing Seeker. Perhaps it was better that way, though; James or Fred would have set his broom on fire, or worse.

'You forget we're against Slytherins,' Roxanne told James. 'It'd be hard enough to find _any_ kind of thinking, let alone "strategic".'

A ghost of a smile drifted over James's face, but when he spoke, his tone was serious. 'I wouldn't underestimate Malfoy. Let's run the plays again,' he told them, voice raised so to make sure the entirety of the team could hear. 'We'll play half on half.'

'I think you've got your counting wrong,' Albus muttered, 'there's _seven_ players on a Quidditch team: not divisible by two.'

At this, Fred told him to get back to Arithmancy, and James revised his instruction: 'I won't play Chaser—Lily against Al, Fred against Roxanne; Wood, we'll play half-pitch so you just block whatever comes your way. I'll go for the Snitch against Barbara.'

Though he had never played Seeker during his time at Hogwarts, Barbara had been at enough summer Weasley matches that she knew James was more than an equal match for her skill. Then again, this was what she needed to do in order to prepare for going up against Scorpius.

Halfway through the game, when Lily, James, and Roxanne's team had three goals and Albus, Fred, and Barbara's had the same, she wondered if she should give up her position and give it to James. This was practically hopeless—every time she caught a glimpse of the Snitch, he was already five feet ahead of her.

'Come on, Barbs,' he'd say as he passed her, 'Malfoy's going to be just as fast as this.'

'You overestimate me,' she'd reply. 'Or if not me, then Malfoy.'

But just as Albus snuck a fourth shot behind Wood's back, Barbara spotted a glimmer of gold. James was close by the goal posts, observing the other players, but he would surely catch up if she waited any longer. The Snitch shot down, closer to the grass of the pitch, and Barbara sped after it. She was closing in, fifteen feet away, when she heard James's surprised shout.

Making the mistake of turning around, she saw him give a spurt of speed and dash in her direction; when she turned back, however, the Snitch was gone. James joined her for a split second before Barbara spotted the Snitch again, near the tower of stands where Melissa Jordan or the Scamander of choice would commentate. She whirled around and flew after it, feeling James close behind.

They were neck and neck by the end of it: ten feet away from the Snitch now. But Barbara was lighter than James, and therefore, she still had more to accelerate; her hand closed over the small golden ball as James's closed around hers. 'Nice job, Barbs,' he said quickly, switching the hand holding Barbara's for the other one with which he shook her free hand. Albus and Fred high-fived, while Roxanne and Lily joined each other in dejected looks. James had been more than fit competition, and had he not been distracted by the duties of captaincy, she probably wouldn't have won. But it felt pretty good to have done so.

'Brilliant!' Albus called. He and Fred joined her a moment later, grins on their faces. 'Remind me to invite you over next time we play a game at home.'

'I look forward to it.' She sighed. 'I just hope I can do that against Malfoy.'

'He's taller than you,' Fred said firmly, 'and for once in your life, this is the job where shortness _counts_. There's no question—you've got this.'

'I'll leave you two to it,' Albus told them, innuendo thick. Before Barbara could respond—to say something like "no, why would you need to do that? He's just my best mate..."—he zoomed off to join his siblings on their way to the ground.

'Do you think it'd be safe to hug you for doing a good job?'

Barbara chuckled. She weighed the odds: he was calm, but she was clumsy, and he was strong, but she was slight; and falling through the air would be an awfully terrifying experience. 'I don't know—we're more than a hundred feet up.'

Fred looked down, like her claim had been falsified. 'Yes,' he realized, 'this may be a bit of a conundrum. Still,' he added, more optimistic, 'we're wizards; there are charms that could save us if we fell.'

'I don't know if I'd remember them if I was about to crash to my death.'

Fred laughed. 'I'd save you.'

And, like every other time in her life, Barbara didn't doubt him.

* * *

Patricia looked down at her completed homework. For once, she was finished before the sun's work was: the sky from the library window was an abstract masterpiece, decorated in various shades of maraschino and peach. Of course, the three assignments sitting in front of her would not have been completed without the help of her best friend, who claimed he had had so much time to himself while she was hell-bent on not forgiving him that he was now actually ahead on homework.

'I like being friends,' Scorpius said, as though it were the simplest of facts. Perhaps, to him, it was. 'Don't you?'

'Having completed all my assignments ahead of time, and now being given the privilege of a nice view that isn't the green underside of the lake, I'd definitely say so.'

Scorpius chuckled: it was a breathy laugh that could have just been an emphasized exhalation if she hadn't been listening. 'You only love me because I help you with your work.'

'No,' Patricia countered. For a moment, her best friend looked wistful. Then she sent his hopes failing with: 'you're also a very generous giver—birthdays, Christmas... oh, Scorpius, don't mope, I'm _kidding_!'

He straightened up and ceased pouting, instead letting an overenthusiastic joyful smile dance across his face. Then setting about sliding finished essays and a copy of _Advanced Potion-Making _into his bag, Scorpius decided (almost as if the time had just dawned on him): 'We should go and eat dinner.'

'Time to rekindle an old love affair with your peas, is it?'

Scorpius made an extravagant show of rolling his eyes and throwing out a hand in a scandalized act.

'_Patricia_,' he groaned, 'peas are _so_ yesterday.'


	12. Delusion or Denial

**Disclaimer:** I am not the genius behind Harry Potter, but I do try to document the lives of his children.

**AN:** Reviews mean more than Shelley Corner's relationships.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

"**Delusion or Denial"**

**Or**

"**Second Potter Syndrome"**

* * *

_**September 24**_

* * *

'James—come on, please?'

The boy in the stands laughed. His arms were crossed, feet up on the benches in front as though he had no cares in the world. Even though his team wouldn't be arriving until an hour later, the Head Boy was all dressed up in uniform and had been watching the proceeds of the Ravenclaw practice for about ten minutes before his presence was noted.

'You shouldn't schedule practices on Saturdays,' he told the captain as she sped over on her broom to shoo him away. 'Especially not in the slot before Gryffindor.'

'Can't you wait somewhere else?' Cordelia asked, folding her arms and maintaining perfect balance atop her broom. James stood and walked to the edge of the stands, resting his hands on the barrier between the observers and the pitch.

'Like where?' he pressed.

'Somewhere you can't see our practice?'

James raised an eyebrow. Grinning, he told her: 'You're just worried you'll mess up with me watching you.'

Cordelia laughed. 'Someone's got a skewed idea of his own importance.'

'_Please_.'

'James.' She had held up her team's progress enough; even if their first game wasn't for a couple of weeks, she couldn't afford to cut on practice time, or compromise their hard work by letting the captain of an opposing team peek in. 'Go—please?'

'...Fine,' James said reluctantly. 'But you'd better make it up to me.'

'And just how can I do that?' Cordelia looked interested to see just what response he would give.

'Don't ditch me in Hogsmeade to spend the day with Dominique?'

Cordelia laughed. 'How about, next time we get the chance to visit, you and I go to The Three Broomsticks?'

James's face morphed into feigned puzzlement. 'My _dear_,' he said incredulously, 'are you trying to ask me on a _date_?'

'Well, if you can't figure out that much,' she muttered, playing along, 'I'm not sure I want to any more.'

He smirked, and thought about commenting on the fact that he was a _Gryffindor_, not any other intellectually challenged house, but she had friends in every house and he didn't want to push his luck. Instead, he agreed—'I'd take great delight in going to The Three Broomsticks with you. But we can talk about this later; I don't want your team hating me for any reason other than us beating your sorry behinds.'—and she hit him, and then he left.

'Sorry about that, you lot,' Cordelia said upon returning to her teammates.

Will, who was a tiny bit mad but very attractive and the best shot at a Keeper Ravenclaw had (which made him more than ably talented), told her not to worry about it. He was more pleased about the fact that James Potter had left. Bridget just giggled and made a comment about what she had bargained to make him leave—for none of them had heard the goings-on of their conversation—which warranted a smack from Cordelia and two laps around the Pitch, which she completed rather reluctantly.

They spent the better half of the next thirty minutes going through plays they hadn't had the chance to with James watching; by the time the Captain returned at six o'clock—his team in tow—they had these plays perfected, and rather smug looks on their faces.

'The pitch is yours, Gryffindors.'

Barbara noticed: 'That rhymed.'

'Yeah—didn't take me long,' the Ravenclaw captain replied, a smile on her face. Al grinned at Cordelia when she passed him: a look she returned, but one that got Fred telling his cousin, 'Don't lose focus over a pair of pretty eyes.'

As if _Fred_ was one to talk.

* * *

'She looks sour.'

Scorpius chuckled. 'Understandable,' he said in his best friend's ear. 'You punched her in the face and I made a slag of her in front of everyone. At the same time.'

They crossed the Great Hall on the way out from dinner together; continuing to observe Rose Weasley and her friends as they made their exit in front of the pair. Patricia leaned in so to make sure their conversation remained unheard by their peers—who would most likely set a goal to tell Rose or her comrades the contents of Patricia and Scorpius's conversation did they listen in—and said, 'Would it bad to say it served her right?'

'No,' Scorpius replied. 'I don't think so. But,' he confessed, as they scuttled down the stairs to the dungeons where the Slytherin common room was located, 'I _do_ wish our conversations didn't revolve around her.'

'I second that motion. We need something else to talk about.'

Patricia and Scorpius followed a gaggle of second-year boys into the Slytherin common room. It was now bustling with activity: groups of girls hurrying up to their dormitories, a couple or two sitting with their heads together in darkened corners—which were plentiful; given the house's nature, and their under-lake location—the occasional stressed-looking N.E.W.T. student cramming in an essay at the desks scattered around the rooms.

Since their usual seats by the fire were taken, Scorpius and Patricia moved over to a small couch near one of the bookshelves, where an anxious-looking fifth year was trying to find a suitable book that would help for her O.W.L.s—Patricia thought this ridiculous, considering they weren't even a month into school; but she knew this girl's type in Cordelia and her housemates—was jittering through the sets of books on offer.

'What about Quidditch?'

Almost completely unfocused, Patricia wasn't sure what her friend was talking about. Then it dawned on her: conversational topics that weren't _Weasley_. 'I'm death at it.'

'I know,' Scorpius said, in such a way that she wasn't offended, 'but the first game of the season's coming up, and instead of the _before_ issue'—by this, they both knew he meant being with Rose—'it's my captaincy that's taking time away from our "oh-so-important bonding".'

'Yeah,' agreed Patricia, 'but I know how important it is to beat the Gryffindors' pompous arses.'

_And Rose's cousins'_, she thought without mentioning it aloud. Even though they weren't talking about her, and they had told each other that they didn't want to start doing so again, but Patricia found obscene satisfaction in bettering Rose at any opportunity she could.

'It'll shut the school up about the fact that I'm a year younger than half of the captains, as well—basically, the Hufflepuff one and the Gryffindor one.' After this, he began to go off on a tangent: 'I can't imagine how it is for Cordelia, though; she's the only female captain...'

He listed the disadvantages of this, but recanted when he thought that she was a lot more able than people expected; Patricia had almost forgotten that the two of their families were close as well—Cordelia's mother had been friends with Scorpius's—and that her best mate was also on good terms with her primary Ravenclaw confidant.

'...wouldn't have picked her for someone who would end up dating Saint Potter's son—but then again, I can't believe who _I_ snogged, so don't trust me to pass judgment on relationships—'

Patricia laughed as Scorpius slipped into incoherency. The nervous fifth year girl had left now, and Patricia found her bent over an essay in the opposite corner of the room; the number of people in the common room had greatly dissipated since Scorpius and Patricia had sat down to converse. For a Saturday night, things were very tame. Caladora Goyle entered the common room and stumbled across it with her friends, whispering to one another.

Her—Caladora's—blouse was buttoned wrong, leaving a gap down the middle of her torso, revealing a bright pink undershirt below. She was giggling.

'I don't know _how_ he got it in,' Patricia overheard one of Goyle's friends saying, 'but Prikk's got firewhiskey—and probably stronger stuff, but I wouldn't let Cal stay—who knows what she would have done? Probably something ridiculous, like _taking_ Prikk _back_. You know, perhaps that was his _plan_ after he invited us to have the drink.'

Apparently, Scorpius had heard the same words Patricia had, because he muttered: 'Merlin, just when I thought Prikk couldn't get any stupider, he actually _brings_ firewhiskey—which isn't particularly bad, but what that bird said made it sound like the tamest thing on offer—to school in hopes of getting his ex-girlfriend drunk enough to reconsider. _Mental_.'

Patricia couldn't have agreed more.

* * *

_**September 25**_

* * *

Recovering from their daily Quidditch team practice was the first thing on Barbara's mind. For the first time, all of her muscles were aching; she was almost worried James was over-working them in his attempts to best Scorpius Malfoy. She was sitting in the common room at three o'clock that afternoon, rubbing her arm and looking out the window in an attempt to sooth the cramps.

Fred and Wood had passed through the common room following James to devise what seemed like yet _another_ possible strategy that could win them the match. Al had gone to talk to Louis, and did not seem too bothered by the strenuous activity that made up their training; perhaps it was a part of being a Potter. Lily, too, had hurried off to spend time with her friends, without even having to wipe any sweat from her brow, or anywhere else.

It was Roxanne who eventually approached her. The tanned girl was rubbing Essence of Murtlap or something like it onto her shins as she sat down on the couch beside Barbara. 'You don't mind, do you?' She asked cautiously, as if realizing that sitting down without warning might not have been appropriate.

'No,' Barbara said, having experienced enough Weasley house visits to become accustomed to their closeness, 'of course not.'

'Is your arm okay?'

She nodded, however this may not have been a wise gesture for it sent stabs of pain down her neck; at Roxanne's concerned look, Barbara told her: 'Really, it's fine. Not worth the time or strain of heading to the hospital wing only to be told that I'm weak by James or Fred.'

'Neither of them would say that,' Roxanne replied. 'Especially not Fred.'

'You'd be surprised what best friends will say.'

'I'm not talking about as a best friend,' said Roxanne.

_Not this talk again_. Why did everyone insist that there were more feelings than met the eye? Barbara and Fred had been friends for a long time, but that didn't mean he saw her any differently than the tiny, once-bespectacled, girl she had been when they first met. That would be too much good luck for any reasonable person to deserve.

'Then what do you mean?' Barbara inquired, playing stupid for the sake of the argument.

Roxanne rolled her eyes. 'Everyone knows he fancies you, even if he can't admit it to himself. You of all people should know about _that_.' When Barbara didn't respond in the affirmative, Roxanne looked surprised. 'Oh, come on, you can't be _that_ naïve; don't you see the way he looks at you?'

'Fondly,' Barbara said, 'like any _best friend_ should.'

'God,' muttered Roxanne, 'if that's the case, then I _need_ to find myself a friend like that. My brother'—with these two words, her tone became more pronounced—'doesn't look at you like you're just any old friend. I don't even want to be the one who has to explain this to you, _because_ he's my brother, but if you won't listen to Molly, I s'pose I'll have to do. I think Fred's in love with you.'

Barbara's hand dropped from where it had been nursing her arm. She hadn't expected the statement to be so out-there, upfront, blunt, _factual_. Roxanne continued: 'If I thought he fancied you I would've just said that, but no; I think he's in love. The whole package. The real deal. If you two hadn't been friends so long, then maybe, yeah, it'd just be fancy. But you've known each other for practically _ever_. And I've watched his looking change over the years.' She sighed. 'You're in deep, my friend.' She patted Barbara on the back. 'Fred's in love with you.'

This was probably the longest conversation the Head Girl had ever had with Roxanne. It was a pity that it was all revolving around the girl's positivity that Fred was in love with his best friend. Barbara shook her head, feeling as though Roxanne—as well-meaning as her actions were—was completely wrong. Barbara possessed none of the qualities that someone as high a caliber as Fred would find attractive. Yes, they were friends, and yes, they had played Quidditch together for a few years, but Quidditch and being nice were really Barbara's most attractive qualities—she didn't think herself pretty or intelligent; not like Victoire or Dominique had been—she was _safe_.

Average.

Mediocre.

A voice inside her argued that, perhaps, Barbara wasn't as lowly as she thought. She had been made Head Girl, and before that, Prefect: they were meant to be the most intelligent, well-rounded students in each house. Beating Molly in anything related to brains was definitely something to be proud of, contested Barbara. But still, Fred didn't care for the qualities that portrayed her in a positive light. She was law-abiding, and he was not. She was quiet, and he was not. She was... nothing out of the ordinary; he most certainly _was_.

'You're awfully quiet,' Roxanne noticed. 'Does that mean you're freaked out, or taking time to process this like a sane person...? Or—or perhaps you're in love with him, too! It would be absolutely brilliant if you are!'

'Roxanne—shush!' Barbara cried, slapping a hand over the fifth year's mouth and ignoring the throbbing discomfort as she did so. Though her voice was silenced, Roxanne's eyes were quite alive; she was looking excited, like she had just solved a great mystery, or discovered yet another thing about Hogwarts castle's secretive past. 'Fred can't be in love with me!' Hopefully, she still sounded forceful in a whisper. 'Because what is there to like? Really?' The rhetorical sense of the question allowed Barbara to keep Roxanne's mouth firmly shut, though Roxanne herself was trying to do otherwise. 'I can't get _anyone_ to fancy me—let alone Fred! Miles Clarke only wanted to go out with me to see how far he could get with a Gryffindor; or to try and spite Fred!'

'See!' Roxanne exclaimed, breaking free of Barbara's hold. She shoved the Head Girl's hand down onto the couch in front of them before her mouth was covered again, and then did the same with Barbara's other hand as it shot out to take over the task. 'See—Clarke asked you out to spite _who_? _Fred_! He could have asked out anyone in Gryffindor, and he was sour towards Fred the day before your date—instead of cancelling, Clarke still went along with it! For what reason, you ask?' Roxanne's eyebrows shot up and down again in what signified a nod. 'You said it yourself: _to spite Fred_. Damn it, Tennant, if even the _Hufflepuffs_ know he's in love with you; I don't know what's stopping your logic.'

* * *

_**September 26**_

* * *

'I hate Mondays.'

Lottie Flanagan seemed to hate a lot of things. She headed down to breakfast with her loose red curls pulled back in a plait, eyes framed with pale green shadow, which she hoped would enhance her eyes: a brighter shade of the same colour. She stood short, bobbing up and down behind her friends as they made their way to the Great Hall.

Melissa slowed down to walk beside Lottie, while Liz and Rose continued on, talking about something that related to Ancient Runes. Lottie couldn't be bothered with subjects that required such research; her electives of choice were Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. Unfortunately, none of her friends had chosen to pursue a Seer's career, and therefore she was left alone in Divination with only people like Shelley Corner for company. Still, things could be worse.

Walking beside Melissa made Lottie feel even worse. Melissa had dark skin, and she was tall, almost Amazonian. She would have looked normal if she and Cordelia were walking side by side. Instead, she had Lottie for a companion, who felt like a child when compared, for she was so short and Melissa was deathly opposite.

'I know,' said Melissa. 'We all hate Mondays.'

They passed Devon Henry, who Lottie made a point not to look at, for she had not done so ever since the vile turn-out with Shelley Corner and the pair of Slytherins. She had thought Devon quite attractive up until then. _Testament to my bad taste_, Lottie supposed.

'Potions, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Care of Magical Creatures all in one day?' she said dejectedly. 'It's a nightmare. Not to mention having to stay up 'til bloody _midnight_ for Astronomy. It's hard to believe no one falls asleep.'

'I wouldn't be able to,' muttered Melissa, 'what with you going on and on about the most obscure topics.'

'The later it gets, the more truth is spilled,' Lottie told her, tone light.

They entered the Great Hall behind Liz and Rose, who seemed to have noticed their absence and slowed down considerably. Gryffindor table was about halfway full; the sprinkling of orange around the table made her aware that there were a good number of Weasleys present, though not all just yet. Lottie followed the others to a bare section of bench near the middle of the table, where they sat down hurriedly; Liz and Melissa more eager to eat than Rose or Lottie herself.

'Please don't tell me they're going out,' moaned Rose.

Lottie followed her gaze to the door and, instead of seeing Scorpius and Patricia Day as she would have expected, she found her eyes falling on James and Cordelia Gilbert. 'Why don't you want them dating?'

'He doesn't need another girlfriend,' said Rose. 'I don't care who it is, or how nice she might apparently be. And if that wasn't enough; don't you think she's a little—I don't know—a bit of a show-off? Like, "oh, hi, I'm Cordelia Gilbert, and I'm just so perfect! Oh, let me go and date the most popular boy in school, James Potter! Did I mention I'm so down to earth and don't care about who he is that I actually said _no_ when he first told me how he felt? I'm _so_ brilliant and smart!". It's like... _really_?'

'What's gotten into _your_ pumpkin juice this morning?' Liz asked irritably. 'You sound like a bit of a bitch.'

Rose bent her head back and sighed. 'Where's your sense of humour these days, Liz?'

Lottie watched James and Cordelia's conversation until it ended with the arrival of Albus. They spoke for another moment or two before Cordelia smiled at both the boys, waved, and moved to the table beside: Ravenclaw. James looked annoyed at his brother, but grinned a second later, as if Al had said something incredibly hilarious. Perhaps he had. If it weren't for her friendship with Rose, Lottie would definitely fancy him.

'Now, speaking of couples,' Melissa began, eyes on the door. 'Are _they_ going out yet?'

The three other girls turned to witness Barbara and Fred enter the Great Hall together, deep in conversation. Barbara's hands were moving as she spoke, gesturing to things that looked like a mixture of sprained muscles and swishing air. Lottie guessed "Quidditch practice".

'I don't think so,' said Rose, still sounding a bit put out after Liz's comment from earlier.

'Should happen soon. I mean, just look at how happy he is to be around her.'

Rose bit her lip. 'Please don't make me want to puke with talks of my cousins being in love.'

'Fine,' Lottie settled. 'But us not mentioning it won't make it any less true.'

* * *

Though it had been over a week since the end of their shared patrols, Albus still had trouble with Andy coming up to him in corridors or lessons—even just as he was walking around the grounds, as had happened once before—and insisting that there was some hope in him ending up with Cordelia.

He didn't really understand her fascination with the way he may or may not have felt about his friend; if she wanted to further along any romances at Hogwarts, perhaps it was better to go after Fred or even Scorpius Malfoy, who—after all that had happened—Al kind of hoped had feelings for his best friend, Patricia Day. It wasn't that he spent time thinking about relationships—because he definitely didn't have_ that_ much time on his hands—but sometimes people just... weren't good at hiding their feelings.

Al was beginning to think he was one of these people, what with how Andy would scurry up to him with new information on things Cordelia or James had said to debunk their budding relationship (though it was, almost all the time, more Cordelia's words than James's that Andy was informing him of).

But, if he was fair, about three quarters of the time she just came up to tease him about how she thought he felt.

'Andy,' he said in the library after lessons that day, 'if you have something to say, don't withhold it.'

She had been standing a shelf away for about five minutes, looking hesitant. Finally, given what she was taking as a "go" sign, the questions and everything else that entailed began. 'I saw you two talking at breakfast. She'—meaning _Cordelia_—'didn't _just_ smile at James when she left, though. And I really don't hope you're thinking of me like I'm stalking you guys or something—I'm not. I honestly couldn't care less about who your parents are, or who your brother is—I'm only doing this because I'm hoping you've not got "Second Potter Syndrome".'

Al laughed. 'What's "Second Potter Syndrome"?'

Andy grinned. 'You're the second Potter sibling: not the first boy—James—or the first girl—Lily. You're in between, but no less brilliant. I just don't want you getting shoved into the shadows due to the fact you won't, y'know, light Evan Cadwallader's underwear on fire or something.'

'I don't even think _James_ has ever done that.'

'Then you could be the first!'

Setting a book back on its shelf, Albus asked: 'What happened to Hufflepuffs being all "don't solve your problems with violence; be tolerant"—you know?'

'Your impression makes us sound like drug addicts.'

'Hey,' Al pointed out, 'your house name _is_ Hufflepuff.'

Andy plucked a book from the selection. She looked puzzled. 'Most people look at me like I'm mad when I say something like "drug addict".'

'Because it's a usually Muggle term or because it makes you sound insane?'

'A bit of both, I suppose.'

'Well,' Albus told her, 'my granddad does a lot of tinkering with Muggle objects. One time, he was working on a television, and there was a news program on talking all about alcoholism and drug addicts. So I—er—did some learning.'

For the first time, Al noticed a few stray cake crumbs on her sweater. He wondered if she really _was_ as obsessed with desserts as her reputation warranted. Noticing them herself, Andy brushed them off and straightened out her top.

'I hope that's not your way of telling me you _tried_ drugs, because I know everyone says you're supposed to tell someone, but I don't think you're meant to be that subtle—'

Albus raised his arms in front of him, like a surrender. 'Andy,' he said, 'relax. That's not what I meant. I may have "Second Potter Syndrome",' he joked, 'but I'm definitely not a drug addict.'

'Good,' the Hufflepuff told him. 'Because I wouldn't trust the _Prophet_ not to abuse that information.'


	13. The Unison of Two Captains

**Disclaimer:** I just started thinking about the fact that these are kind of redundant because this story is posted on a site strictly _for_ fanfiction, but nevertheless: I do not own Harry Potter.

**AN:** Reviews are summer holidays, even if—like me—you've gone somewhere cold. Oh and I sincerely apologize that this will be the last update until Saturday or Sunday; I'm going to stay with my cousins, but I'll have the next few chapters up as soon as possible.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

"**The Unison of Two Captains"**

**Or**

"**No, Andy, I'm fine!".**

* * *

_**September 27**_

* * *

A majority of the sixth-years woke up groggy, as was usually warranted by the late timeslot of the Astronomy class. Even though there had been more than a fair few of these lessons already, lethargy in teens was a common trait, and there was really nothing to be done about it. A few of the Ravenclaws, with their genius, had been commissioning "wake me up!" potions in earlier years, but when it was found out they had just been using firewhiskey and a few ingredients that had been stolen from Professor Slughorn's stocks during a Slug Club dinner, this business had been put to a vicious halt (the Ravenclaws involved also procured large pustules that the other students denied giving them).

After dragging their feet and stumbling through breakfast, the sleepy-eyed sixth-years moved on to their first lessons; cumbersome and bearing foul moods. Scorpius was grateful for the fact that his classmates were too tired to let awkwardness seep into the atmosphere—for that was how it had been in recent Arithmancy classes, what with the fact that he and Rose were some of the few classmates, with no one around to distract their attention from the morose glances put forth by other students.

To his surprise, halfway through the lesson, a note was sent his way.

_Chin up, Scorpius. I thought part of being a Malfoy was holding your head high and tackling uncomfortable situations with robust determination. _—_Cordelia._

He bit his lip, trying to fight the urge to grin, and looked up. Cordelia's eyes were already on him, watching to see how he would react to the note. She gave him a quick smile and stuck a thumb up before returning to the avid memorizing of the charts laid out in front of her. Scorpius hastily scribbled a reply.

_And I'm certain part of being a Ravenclaw is using massive, annoying words in the middle of sentences to make yourselves sound even smarter. "Robust", Cordelia? Really?_

Carefully, when Professor Dryden's back was turned, he lobbed the paper over to her table. Unfolding it and reading what he had to say, Cordelia rolled her eyes and shook her head, but not in way that was condescending. It was more of an "oh, Scorpius, you're so silly" gesture. Albus, who was sat beside Cordelia, glanced back to see who she had been writing to. He and Scorpius met eye to eye for a split second, and then the aforementioned withdrew his gaze abruptly.

Scorpius supposed that he and Albus weren't enemies; they didn't dislike one another, and had the Sorting gone differently, they probably would have ended up best friends, but due to Albus's family—and, probably, also Scorpius's—no such comradeship had occurred.

Perhaps next year, with James, Fred, and Molly gone, the anti-Slytherin movement would ease somewhat. Albus would probably be the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team then, and while that competition led to a certain level of rivalry, it would not ruin friendships.

It _certainly_ hadn't ruined Cordelia's and James's.

Scorpius wasn't a _great_ admirer of Albus Potter—because, really, who would have the chance to be? His brother pranced around like a bit of a twat and most of the female attention went to him; not that Scorpius had the same reasons for admiration as his girl classmates did... nevertheless—but he respected him. Of the three Potter siblings, Albus was probably the most hard-working and decent, but he still knew when to have a laugh.

They really weren't so different: Albus and Scorpius. Their names even finished with the same two letters.

* * *

'I can't even _begin_ to explain what's wrong with that.'

James rolled his eyes. 'Well, forgive me for not being one hundred percent accurate on my runes, _Barbara_.'

'You were meant to draw a tree rune,' the Head Girl said, pointing a finger at the picture in the book to prove her point, 'and that'—the disfigured rune on James's parchment—'looks more like everlasting wisdom; which I guess,' she added quickly, 'is something you're lacking.'

He laughed sarcastically. 'Hilarious.' James erased the rune with a flick of his wand and tried again. The rune turned out much better on this second attempt. Barbara mimed applause and returned to her own work; she was a line ahead of him, marking down the runes for "equality" and, then, rather shockingly, "dismemberment". If this was what they were teaching in schools, James was beginning to worry about the Hogwarts curriculum.

He was about to mention his wondering at what Fred and Molly were now doing in Muggle Studies, but Barbara beat him to the punch.

'It's probably weird to just bring this up out of the blue, and I don't want to seem paranoid or obsessive or anything, but can we please just continue this one conversation that doesn't revolve around the absurd notion of Fred being in love with me?'

Raising his eyebrows, James asked, 'why? Not fond of the idea, are you?'

'No,' said Barbara. 'It's not that. I just don't understand why everyone feels the need to go on about it.'

'Who even told you?'

Barbara finished the runic phrase and replied, 'Roxanne. Well,' she amended, 'before that, Molly mentioned that, and Al said something, and—'

'—God,' James interrupted, 'does _no one_ in this family know how to keep a secret?'

'Apparently, Fred does.'

James returned to his work, dipping his quill into the ink well and trying to perfect the rune for "solitude". He was three runes away from the twisted "equality" and "dismemberment" sentence, and Barbara seemed much closer to the end. It seemed strange to him that she denied the possibility of Fred having feelings for her. What was really so unappealing? Barbara was cool, and she played Quidditch well. She and Fred been friends for years. If the entire Weasley family had noticed, how come she hadn't?

James settled with the idea that girls were simply insane, and made his way—finally—onto the "equality" rune, not wanting to bother himself with the strange, complex inner-workings of the female reasoning system.

'I'm sorry,' said Barbara.

'For what?'

'For bringing up the whole "Fred" thing again. It's just—it's really been getting to me, you know?'

'Well,' James supposed, 'for him to fancy you—or, Merlin forbid, _love_ you—there's got to be something that appeals to him. And isn't this sort of one perk of being in a relationship? There's someone who sees the best in you, even if you don't.'

Barbara smiled, but it didn't look wholehearted. 'Thanks, James.'

'Don't thank me,' he said. 'Thank Fred. He's the one who sees all these fantastic qualities—I'm just a grouchy Quidditch captain who yells at you all the time.'

'And I'm just a Seeker who can't catch.'

James grinned. 'That's not true. I mean, if you sucked that bad, I wouldn't have put you on the team again. June Forrester could've had your job.'

This got a real smile.

'We'll just have to see how things go. I might end up horribly injured, and June will have no choice but to step in.'

'Don't sound so hopeful.'

* * *

_**September 28**_

* * *

James, Cordelia noticed, seemed to have taken up a habit of visiting the Hogwarts library. He spent much more time there than he had previously: finishing essays, drafting plans for the Gryffindor team—she would have guessed "hiding out" but given the fact that Shelley had come up here on a conquest, she didn't really think the library served that purpose anymore.

She came up behind him, put her hands on the top of the back of his chair and said: 'What's this I hear about there being scouts at this year's Quidditch games?'

'It's nothing but the truth,' he replied, and he looked genuinely happy to see her.

'And what about the part where they're looking to put _you_ on the Arrows?'

James pulled out the seat beside him and elaborated: 'Well, the Arrows are the best team in Britain, and—yes—that's one of my options, but it's not the only team sending people up.'

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. 'Causing a bit of a splash then, aren't you, Potter?'

They had slipped into an easy relationship where first names were used outside of Quidditch talk. Cordelia was definitely proud about the Appleby Arrows sending scouts out to see James—not just because it gave them a chance to see her play, because she wasn't selfish, and her ultimate goal wasn't at all to play Quidditch—because she was pleased for him, hence the pride and not jealousy, which could easily have taken its place.

'Only in good ways, hopefully,' said James. He scooted a little bit to the side so to see her better as she sat down. 'No essays to finish on a Wednesday night, then?'

Cordelia shook her head. 'Essays are easy; they're just writing. I suppose it's a Ravenclaw thing.'

'Nah,' he told her, 'I've seen people from your house slaving away up here for hours—I think it's a Cordelia thing.'

She smiled at him. James was good; and when she said this, she did not just mean it like "—at Quidditch" or "-looking". She meant "good". He wasn't as much of a prat as people thought: he was actually quite nice, and fiercely loyal, once you got past the whole "wow, I'm James Potter, I'm so brilliant and I'll tell you just why!" exterior.

Thinking back to a few weeks ago—which was something she did a lot, and sometimes not too willingly—Cordelia had turned him down because she was afraid of just being one of the girls James had strung along. She had said that she would definitely be more optimistic towards a more caring, altruistic James—which was exactly what she had now.

Perhaps she was just thinking this way because of some triggering with Shelley, but Cordelia doubted it. She had never been one of those people who did something just so others couldn't. She didn't make decisions based off the actions of others.

'How are things going, then?' she asked. 'In preparation for Saturday, I mean.'

James shrugged. 'Pretty well, I suppose; I'm afraid my drills are tiring the others out. A few of them have sore muscles—three days before the game, I don't really want to risk those injuries. I've told them to go to Madam Pomfrey, though, and that seemed to sort things out.'

'Of course. Madam Pomfrey can mend muscles in a minute.'

'Alliteration.'

'I know,' Cordelia said, returning the grin that had passed onto James's face. 'I'm quite proud of it.'

'So who will you be cheering for in Saturday's match?' asked James, leaning back into his seat, quite nonchalant. Cordelia guessed this was only surface deep.

'Oh, I don't know,' she said casually. 'Either my dad's house or the boy I fancy. Not too sure myself.'

Thankfully, her implication hadn't been lost. James's eyes opened wide, almost like he had just been hit in the back of the head by a Bludger.

'I take it you're not talking about Al?' he managed.

'No,' said Cordelia, 'I'm not talking about Al.'

James breathed out extravagantly. 'Well, we're both finished here, aren't we?' Cordelia nodded at this. 'Do you want to do something before dinner?' James offered. 'The Lake's looking pretty gorgeous.'

'Sounds good to me.'

'Great,' he breathed, and then the two of them departed the library for the grounds.

* * *

_**September 29**_

* * *

Of course, good news travels fast—and so the news that James Potter was dating Cordelia Gilbert travelled even faster. Albus was just about free of stress when he noticed a familiar mane of hair striding towards him.

'Andy,' he greeted. 'Would it be bad to say I'm not surprised?'

'Nah, it's pretty much what I was expecting.'

They began the walk to History of Magic together, and Andy sighed. 'I hope you're not taking it too bad.'

Albus put his hands out in front of him, using them to gesture to himself (and just generally, when needed) as he spoke: 'Trust me—I'm fine.'

'Good,' his companion told him, 'because I can't cheer people up to save my life.'

'You're a Hufflepuff,' Al said: they had begun to use the stereotypes of each house like a joke. Hufflepuff seemed prominent in this, though; it wasn't for a discriminatory reason—Andy was a Hufflepuff. That was all. 'Shouldn't you be the best at that—all the "sunshine, rainbows, and kittens" sort of stuff?'

'It didn't say _that_ in the Sorting Hat song.'

Every year, the Sorting Hat was meant to have a new song prepared for the start-of-term feast: Albus supposed that was what it spent its time doing each year, concocting the perfect melody. But there were a couple of old favourites that were recycled every ten or so years; the one that had been sung this year was an example.

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_ Where dwell the brave at heart_

_ Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_ Set Gryffindors apart_.

Of course, this "daring, nerve, and chivalry" was probably more obviously found back in his father's time at Hogwarts, when there was actually some reason to have such qualities. Albus supposed the "brave at heart" was what got people in now.

Though he personally thought how things were decided was better than growing up and having to battle the Dark Arts; thankfully, things had greatly settled down since the defeat of Voldemort and his forces. (He didn't want to say it, but thanks to his father were in order. As they always were.)

'It _is_ a pity, though,' said Andy. 'You know—cause you two were such good mates; and now she's your brother's girlfriend.'

They entered the History of Magic room, and judging from the glances given by his cousins, Albus knew they must have looked like a bit of an odd pair. None of them were particularly good friends with the Hufflepuff—it was almost like she didn't have any friends apart from Seamy the house elf and his peers in the kitchen—which probably made it look a bit strange for Albus to be heading into class with her, talking as though they were the best of chums.

'We're still going to be mates,' Albus insisted. 'James doesn't change anything.'

'He will eventually,' said Andy, and she actually sounded sad to tell him so.

* * *

Patricia hurried over to the Ravenclaw; she had been bombarded by questions all day, but that's what Cordelia got for dating James Potter, Patricia thought. She managed to get past a couple of girls who were asking about what James was like as a kisser—Patricia hoped things weren't moving that quickly; but hell, this was Potter; he'd snog a girl he didn't know the name of if she puckered her lips—and Cordelia grinned upon sight.

'Hey!'

'Don't hate me,' said Patricia, 'but I've come to talk to you about your _boyfriend_.'

Cordelia smirked at her emphasis on the word; it was almost as though she couldn't get used to it herself. 'Not much to tell that you probably haven't already heard.'

'Want to have a bit of a walk?' The Slytherin asked, for they were standing on the edge of the lake and it looked quite nice in the light of the afternoon sun. A walk may have offered the solitude Patricia wanted for their conversation, which was another incentive to embark on one. Cordelia nodded and they headed off. 'So I had Muggle Studies last with Corner'—Cordelia's ghost of a smile faded at the mention of Shelley—'and she was bloody _furious_. I kid you not: you'd best watch out for her.'

'I haven't trusted her since second year.'

'I don't think anyone has.'

They reached a bend and rotated around to walk back the way they had come; the lake was ominous in front of them, its depths treacherous, stretching out almost as far as the eye could see, like it was carved into the hills that framed it. A few groups of people were outside, but the majority of students were still within the castle, either holed up in their common rooms or possibly interrogating Weasleys on what they new of the most recent relationship in their family.

Patricia and Cordelia had always had an agreement, that both of them thought would probably never come true. At the beginning of each school year, towards the end of August, the two girls would have the same conversation; the topic always revolving around the prospect of one of them getting a boyfriend in the year that followed.

It had never actually _happened_ up until this point, because no bloke had been interested in either Cordelia or Patricia, but still, the pact stayed in place; if one of them got a boyfriend, the other would do all in their power to stop the school's infernal forces—like Connor Wilson, Shelley Corner, or whatever snarky Slytherin decided to start a rumour to end the couple—from ruining their relationship. _If you only ever got one boyfriend at Hogwarts, at least it would be a nice experience... hopefully._

And now Cordelia was dating James and the responsibility had fallen on Patricia to take up. It was probably a good thing she had already punched Rose Weasley in the nose—she had only just stopped serving detention for it two days ago—and an even better thing it was publicized, because then people knew what they would be up against.

'Do you remember that agreement we've been making since like, third year?'

Cordelia looked over: 'The one about not letting anyone ruin it if one of us actually got a boyfriend?'

'That's it.'

'Does it still stand?' asked Cordelia.

They turned around again and began making laps of the trail they had been walking on. It was long enough, and no one had interrupted them yet, which Patricia thought was a miracle—were the students of Hogwarts actually easing their gossiping ways? To answer Cordelia, she stated: 'Yes, of course. I thought that was obvious. I mean, I may not like Potter,' she admitted, 'but if you do, then I won't stop you.'

'And when the same thing happens with Scorpius—because, let's be honest, there's a possibility, now that you've _literally_ punched Rose in the face—I'll do the same for you.'

Patricia felt herself blush. 'It won't happen,' she said. 'You're delusional.'

'Am I?' pressed Cordelia. 'Or am I _right_?'

* * *

_**September 30**_

* * *

It was a cold morning in Gryffindor tower. No one was quite sure why. It wasn't because the fire had gone out; it hadn't, and Barbara had checked many times; there were many whiny young Gryffindors who wouldn't listen to the Head Girl when she told them "no, the fire's still lit" and therefore warranted a copious amount of trips up and down the stairs of the girls' dormitory, then back to the common room, then the dormitory, then the common room, then the...

Then business resumed as usual; the never-ending cycle of young wizards' displeasure at the temperature of their beds. James was taking care of the boys, which she hoped was going better than the girls—even though this was not likely—and on one of her final trips down to the common room to check on the fire—'I _swear_, after this, I'm just not going to do it anymore'—Barbara found herself running into Fred, instead of the Head Boy himself.

'Whoa,' he said, putting his hands on her arms to steady her. 'Explain to me again how the clumsiest person in Gryffindor managed to become Seeker of the Quidditch team?'

'Blood, sweat, and tears.'

'Sounds very glamorous,' Fred commented, before his voice returned to the conversational tone it usually held. 'James had me check on the fire—do _you_ know why it's so cold?'

'No idea. But I'll definitely be going to Professor Longbottom'—Professor Longbottom was their Head of House—'about this. And if he doesn't know, then I'll ask Headmistress Sprout.'

'Don't tire yourself out.'

Barbara tried not to let herself get over-contemplative and resisted the urge to dig for hidden meanings in Fred's concerned words. She hated that it had come to this point with her _best friend_—of all people. She almost felt uncomfortable.

It wasn't that the idea of Fred being in love with her wasn't pleasant; for it would mean a great deal to Barbara if he was, but she hated the speculative side of things, where James and Albus and Molly and Roxanne were the ones confessing his love for her, not Fred himself. A little part of her wondered what she would do if that happened—if Fred did admit to being in love with her, or even just fancying her—but it was overridden by a large voice that simply said she was being ridiculous.

'I can't believe we're playing Slytherin tomorrow,' Barbara said aloud. She was more worried than she had been in precedent years, though she wasn't sure why. It was that there would be scouts at the game: this didn't make her nervous because Barbara, like Cordelia, did not plan to pursue Quidditch. She wasn't nearly good enough to even _try_.

'I know,' Fred agreed. 'It's ridiculous—though if we win, James's ridiculous methods will have paid off.'

'All my muscle cramps will have been worth it,' Barbara concurred. There was a new competitiveness in her now, and she wasn't quite sure where it had come from.

'Oh, yeah, Roxanne mentioned your arm was a bit sore—you're okay now, though, right?'

'Yeah, of course.'

'I've been okay myself, but I think that's just because I'm used to James's drills when he's running on stress.'

A few tentative-looking younger students hurried down the stairs, but when they saw Fred and Barbara talking in the common room, they quickly scarpered off, back to their dormitories. Fred watched them go with the ghost of a smile stretched across his lips.

He—Fred—really _was_ quite attractive. It was a fact Barbara had often missed, because she had told herself a long time ago that nothing would happen between them, but now that they were standing by themselves first thing in the morning in the middle of Gryffindor common room; she couldn't help but notice.

His hair, a darker alternative to the traditional "Weasley" orange, was un-brushed and little bits of it—more towards the back of his head—were sticking up in all directions.

His features, though not as angled as James's, were definitely close; tanned and a bit tougher than his relatives', though with a joking smile so frequent upon them that you could almost see the lines of his grin even when it wasn't there.

Barbara was in the middle of investigating him when Hugo came down the stairs, his hair looking just as wild as Fred's; he was rubbing his eyes and he yawned as he asked: 'Does no one know why it's so bloody cold?'

For someone who had seemed so peaceful coming down the stairs, his speech was certainly not so.

'Seriously,' Hugo continued, 'it's like someone's _died_ or something—have you checked? 'Cause it could've happened; just putting that out there—it's _freezing_.'

He went back up the stairs, still talking. 'It's only September—bloody hell!'

'Classic Hugo,' Fred said with a grin.

Barbara couldn't have agreed more.


	14. One Quaffle, Two Bludgers, and a Snitch

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the rights to Harry Potter. End of story. There! Done!

**AN:** (This is going to be long!) Thank you to reviewers **MadCatta**, **Anna**, and **NinjaByBirth123** for your constant support and, of course, your reviews. They seriously make my day. (To answer the question: "When will Patricia and Scorpius start dating?"—You will find out in good time, my friend. As flawed as the relationship was, Rose Weasley is not easy to get rid of, even if you've been in love with someone else much longer. Hint hint.) Also, I'm incredibly sorry for not having updated since last Wednesday. I didn't really have the opportunity to get on the computer and write anything, and I got back a day later than I expected; this is late. And I'm sorry.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

"**One Quaffle, Two Bludgers, and a Snitch"**

**Or**

"**Desire's Dislike".**

* * *

_**October 1**_

* * *

It was strangely warm for the first of October, but the good weather was no deterrent for the spectators of the anxiously-awaited Slytherin-Gryffindor match that kicked off the year. The crowd was divided: Slytherin and Gryffindor obviously showing bias for their particular houses, but Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff undecided. Though they usually would have leaned towards Gryffindor, the fact that the Slytherin team was quite attractive threw more than a few witches into ambivalence.

Madam Hooch, who could have been forty or four-hundred, made her way out to the middle of the pitch. Behind her limped Mr. Filch, the caretaker, carrying the trunk in which the Quaffle, Bludgers, and Snitch were held.

Lysander Scamander was commentating, and while many would have thought this a ridiculous decision, the Professors did not. He and Lorcan had been alternating with Melissa Jordan since first year.

'Great day for a Quidditch match, don't you think? Yes—I can tell there'll be lots of indigenous dell-bats about later!'

He was reprimanded by Professor Longbottom, who said: 'Quidditch,' at which Lysander's attention returned to the pitch. The Gryffindor and Slytherin teams were entering now; Captains in front, behind them the three Chasers—or two in the case of Gryffindor, for James was up ahead—and behind them the Beaters, and behind them the Keeper and the Seeker—or, due to Scorpius being Seeker, his Keeper was alone.

'There's the two teams! Yes, now they're shaking hands—what a firm grip Potter's got! Okay, they're mounting their brooms now!'

The fourteen players shot into the air as Filch hurried off the pitch. Madam Hooch released the Snitch, which fluttered around the teams and then shot off in a blur. Barbara and Scorpius stared each other down: neither flinched. Then the Bludgers were released, and hastily, the Quaffle.

'It's Slytherin Higgs with the Quaffle—she speeds off to the Gryffindor—_oh_! Bludger to the shoulder by Fred Weasley; that has got to hurt! Higgs has dropped the Quaffle and it's Potter—oh, there _are_ three of them—_James_—zooming towards the Slytherin goalposts. He dodges both Bludgers and passes to Lily...'

The redheaded fourth-year changed direction at the last minute: as Gordon Rourke lunged to protect the right goalpost, Lily flung the Quaffle through the left. She sped off again as another Slytherin Chaser by the name of McCormick rushed to retrieve it, and Lysander cried, 'ten-nil to Gryffindor!'

Down in the stands, with her eyes flickering from the game to her boyfriend to the Arrows scouts sitting in the stands opposite, Cordelia Gilbert muttered, 'come on, James; do something that'll make them recognize you.'

And, after McCormick received a Bludger to the back of the head from Roxanne, James did just that. He stole the Quaffle and headed back to the Slytherin goalposts. There was really no contest: was it Scorpius he was up against, things probably would have been more difficult. Instead, it was Rourke.

'I don't think he wants to be fooled again! Perhaps it's those Wrackspurts—no, Professor Longbottom, I tell you! I see them!'

Lysander almost forgot to call it as Gryffindor gained another ten points, as well as the scouts' attention. Two goals in less than five minutes—and it wasn't as though Slytherin weren't apt players!

'I think Malfoy's seen the Snitch!'

Barbara sped down to meet him and the Snitch buzzed away. Where exactly it went, neither the Head Girl nor the Slytherin knew. Albus circled around his brother and slammed into Higgs as she tried to get in to steal the Quaffle; she spun off-course.

* * *

Five minutes later, with the Snitch still out of sight, the score was fifty-ten to Gryffindor. Things were going almost too easily, and karma soon caught up. Just as he was about to dive to block the Quaffle, Wood's stomach collided with a Bludger. It was Thomas Prikk's doing. Wood shot backwards off his broom and through the goalpost he had been guarding. Roxanne cried out—louder than anyone else—and sped over, dodging Bludgers this way and that, to make sure his fall was cushioned.

Madam Hooch had her wand out: minus a broken rib or two, Wood would be fine. Roxanne flung a Bludger at Prikk just when Fred did—both Bludgers hit at the same time and the Slytherin collapsed, plummeting back down to the bottom of the pitch with his broom under him.

'Okay!' James shouted, Lily and Albus close enough to hear him. 'Wood's gone; that means it's just as much up to us to defend as it is to score—if Slytherin can't get the Quaffle up there, they can't...'

He broke off as his point was made, and Slytherin was awarded twenty points. Ten for the goal in question, and ten for the one when Wood fell. Lily and Al both nodded before speeding off in different directions.

'It's fifty-thirty to Gryffindor!' announced Lysander. 'I _do_ hope Wood's okay—Professor Longbottom, that _was_ Quidditch-related!'

Al threw the Quaffle to James. It was almost stolen by Higgs, but James was faster and Higgs was wounded and it may not have worked out anyway. He darted to the Slytherin goalposts and found himself facing Rourke once more.

'Heard about your girlfriend, Potter!'

James zigzagged around the three goal hoops. 'Is this really the time, Rourke?'

'As good as any, I reckon,' Rourke spat. 'You two won't las' long.'

Zooming around the middle post and moving on as the Slytherin followed, James asked, 'why is that?'

'She's a _sixth_-year. Prob'ly got a whole set of ideas about—'

'—It's sixty-thirty to Gryffindor!' cried Lysander, the cheers getting progressively louder as the game went on.

James smirked at the Slytherin Keeper. 'Sixth-year or not,' he said quickly, 'Cordelia probably could've stopped that goal.'

* * *

Albus dodged a Bludger from the sole remaining Slytherin Beater and surveyed the game. James and Lily were blocking Higgs and McCormick—Roxanne had injured their third companion after she found him laughing at Wood—as they made their way up the pitch.

Technically, Al wasn't allowed to assume the position of Keeper, but he was only hovering about twenty feet from the goalposts, so he couldn't really be penalized.

'It looks like the Potters have taken up defence for the moment—no sight of the Snitch as of yet! Ruddy disappointing—it's okay, Malfoy, Tennant; it's just the Wrackspu—_I'm sorry_, Professor Longbottom!'

There were six Gryffindor players on the pitch, five Slytherins. Two of the eleven were pursuing another ball, sailing away from the action of the game. Scorpius and Barbara wove in and out of the stands, following neither the Snitch nor each other, but staying together until one of them sped off after the little golden ball seemed like a reasonable idea.

The two Seekers sped past a blur of navy blue and bronze: Ravenclaws looked up for a split second, had they blinked they would have missed it—at that moment, perhaps one hundred feet away, Barbara caught sight of the Snitch.

It was definitely the Snitch. _Definitely_.

Scorpius hadn't seen it yet. If he had, he certainly hadn't gone after it. Biding her time with a swish of her broom, Barbara devised a plan. Given: she wasn't the most cunning or best at schemes—no, that was more the domain of the Slytherins—but this would get her the Snitch.

Suddenly, Barbara sped off towards James. As she had thought, Scorpius followed. At the last moment, Barbara pulled left; her pursuer did not, instead flying right through the defending Potters and across the pitch before he could stop himself. But this was Scorpius Malfoy: like lightning, he was on her trail again.

The Snitch was thirteen feet away.

Scorpius was catching up.

But the Snitch was four feet away!

But Scorpius was catching up!

But the Snitch—

Agony.

A hard hit to the back of her neck, and the bottom half of her scalp: everything was gone now. The pitch, the spectators, Lysander shouting, Fred shouting louder, and Barbara falling down to the earth.

Whether the Snitch was in her hand or not, it did not matter. There was someone trying to help her, their hand closed over hers on the Snitch, yet it didn't feel like theft. This person, grabbing her but also the little golden ball in her palm, slowed the fall more than infinitesimally.

* * *

_**October 2**_

* * *

It wouldn't have been realistic if the first eyes Barbara saw when she awoke were Fred's. _It would be too romantic_, she decided. It was much better to have found Cordelia's gaze on her instead.

The girl's hair, which curled slightly, was cascading down—almost as if to meet Barbara—because of how Cordelia was leaned over her friend. She looked concerned, but obviously thrilled to see her all right.

'How do you feel?'

Barbara's mouth was dry when she spoke. 'Confused.'

Cordelia smiled, but she still looked worried. 'You don't remember what happened, do you?'

'Not much after getting hit by a Bludger.' She tried to reach up and rub the back of her head, to see how bad things were, but instead she felt the soft cloth of a bandage. 'Where are the others? I thought there'd be more people anxiously awaiting my recovery.'

Cordelia smiled again. 'There were; earlier. But James insisted that you needed rest—Fred was _very_ unhappy about it. He said he wouldn't make a racket, he just wanted to make sure you were all right.'

The Ravenclaw looked over to check Barbara's expression—thankfully, she wasn't blushing; she had remained blissfully neutral; it had taken her lots of practice to learn how to do so—before she continued. 'Anyway, I said I'd stay and tell Fred as soon as something happened.'

'I don't see you sending for him,' noted Barbara.

'No,' said Cordelia, 'but I wanted to talk to you first. Do you want to know what happened or not?'

Barbara was about to reply that, yes, that was all she wanted to do at the moment, but then there was a collection of footsteps and James and Fred hurried in, accompanied by Wood, who had a bandaged arm but was otherwise fine.

Fred's eyes lit up at the sight of her, and his grin was the brightest of the three that emerged on the boys' faces. 'Barbs! You're okay!'

'Don't get too close,' Cordelia reprimanded, not unkindly. 'She's just got up.'

'Thank Merlin,' Wood muttered. 'If she'd been awake for an hour and no one told Fred, he'd be going even more ballistic—_oomph_.'

Fred's arm seemed to have found the Keeper's stomach, and made contact. James was standing behind Cordelia, who was now in the seat behind Barbara's bed—one of her hands was up, as if she was going to twirl a strand of hair, but instead of hair, her hand held James's. It was a sweet gesture that made the Head Girl feel something she couldn't quite describe. Instead of pondering this, she turned her eyes to Fred.

'Did Cordelia tell you what happened?'

'No,' Barbara told him. 'She didn't get the chance.'

Fred looked towards Wood, who said: 'Don't ask me _anything_; I was out.'

James muttered something about Roxanne freaking out but no one else seemed to take any notice. Fred told him to be quiet and let him tell her what had happened.

'You were really close to getting the Snitch—about a foot away, perhaps less—then there was a Bludger that came and hit you; I'm pretty sure you remember that part. You had the Snitch, and then—you know—Bludger, injury—'

'I'm pretty sure you're missing something out,' muttered James, but he didn't sound so eager to explain either. He and Fred shared a look that made Cordelia sigh exasperatedly.

'Did you feel someone try to pull you up?' she asked quietly.

Fred muttered, 'And just about steal the Snitch.'

'Ignore Fred,' Cordelia admonished. She asked for confirmation.

Barbara nodded. 'Yeah, I did.'

Cordelia took a deep breath. 'You might not expect this,' she said, 'but...'

'But what?' Barbara asked when the Ravenclaw faltered. Cordelia swallowed.

'It was Scorpius.'

* * *

_**October 3**_

* * *

'They're together. Stop moping.'

Shelley rolled her eyes and sighed angrily. 'Excuse me, _Tabitha_,' she snapped. 'I didn't think you needed to put in your two cents.'

Tabitha, who was usually quiet but was now agitated, picked up her books and stuffed them into her bag. Professor Trelawney had dismissed them, and now they had finished Monday's lessons. Any other time, it would have been a point for celebration, but Shelley Corner was in a bad mood, and therefore no one was safe.

'Why can't you just back off? I understand that you wanted to get together with James and now he's dating Cordelia, but he said "no" and that is it.'

Shelley looked displeased but didn't try to walk ahead of her classmate. Tabitha didn't really understand what was going on, but Shelley was a force to be reckoned with and she didn't want Cordelia or—God forbid—James Potter as the target of her wrath.

'You don't get it, do you?' said Shelley. She sounded very annoyed. 'I've tried to be nice, I've been holding my tongue, but no more. I've been with James—'

'—for a brief snog,' Tabitha muttered.

'—and I know,' Shelley continued as if she hadn't interrupted, 'what he wants, even if he doesn't. People like he and I... we don't date people like Cordelia Gilbert. She's not our type.'

They crossed the corridor and saw Bridget talking to Lysander. Tabitha shot her a look that said "don't! Don't come over!" and so the two of them stayed safely away from the angry Shelley.

'How do you know you and James are so similar?'

Shelley groaned and turned to Tabitha. 'I know more than you do, Perkins, so perhaps you should shut your stupid little mouth and keep it that way—you're usually so good. I liked you the most in the first place. You don't speak; you don't question everyone else. That's what I admire—you let me do what I want and you don't stop me—so _why start now_?'

'Maybe James loves Cordelia,' said Tabitha. 'Did you think about that?'

Shelley laughed. It wasn't the kind of laugh that depicted mirth: it was like Tabitha had said something very silly, like she was a child. 'I believe James might _love_ Cordelia, yes. But that doesn't mean he's _in_ love with her.'

* * *

Cordelia met James in the Head's Office. It was almost five o'clock, and he had been spending his free class organizing things with Barbara. She hadn't wanted to pry; they might have been doing something important inside, but just when Cordelia gathered up the courage to open the door and enter, James and Barbara appeared in front of her.

'Hey!' Cordelia said to her boyfriend, before turning to Barbara and asking, 'you feeling better?'

'Yeah—Madam Pomfrey fixed me up.' The Head Girl looked from James to Cordelia and then said, 'but, you know what? We can talk about that later—I'll leave you two to it.'

The two of them watched her leave and then turned to each other. James gestured to the inside of the office.

'You know,' he said, 'it's probably one of two places in the school we can have complete privacy. And, opposed to the Room of Requirement, there are only two keys.'

He ushered her inside the office. Nothing had changed since the last time she had been inside: the night James told her how he felt. They had sat on opposite sides of the room, him watching over the Marauder's Map and her trying to look anywhere but at him.

Still, with circumstances different, the room seemed so much lighter; the sun's rays streamed in from the windows towards the top of the room: they were nearly violet now, for it was almost sunset and the colours of the sky were diversifying into rouges and oranges and purples.

'How's your day been?' James asked, slipping nonchalantly into one of the chairs by the table stationed towards the right side of the room.

'Fine,' she replied. 'Nothing out of the ordinary.'

Aware that they were alone, Cordelia suddenly felt self-conscious. It wasn't that they hadn't been alone before, but now it was in much more of a private setting. It made her nervous, and not with anticipation. Cordelia honestly had no idea what to expect.

'Don't take this the wrong way,' said James, 'but you look absolutely gorgeous right now.'

Not blushing, Cordelia raised an eyebrow. 'Is that genuine, or just you trying to get in?'

'Genuine,' he answered immediately. 'I wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true.'

'Really?'

'Well, I might've said something like "_fit_".'

He stood up and came over to meet her, taking her hands in his. His dark eyes found hers; he smiled, almost like he was nervous but completely comfortable at the same time, and he bit his lip slightly. Unable to prolong the gaze, Cordelia's eyes shot down to the floor. Then James lifted her chin and he kissed her.

The feeling was almost indescribable: what it was like to kiss James Potter. Even though he was her boyfriend and he could easily have done this before without it meaning anything, the utter shock and realization of what was happening nearly sent Cordelia's body into a frenzy.

This would have been difficult, though, did it eventuate, for James's arms were now wound around her: one hand at either side of her waist. Somehow without her knowing, Cordelia's hands had found their way to his face: they framed it now, still kissing.

Her heart was beating faster as the seconds went by; somehow she was now against the wall, her legs ravelling with James's. They were still kissing, and she almost felt dizzy, but it felt so incredibly perfect that nothing else seemed to matter. James's hands travelled from her waist to wind around her back, pulling her closer. Cordelia's arms wrapped around his neck; it was strange that something that had begun so tame had developed into this.

James pulled away with a breath. He blinked a few times, and then a proud little smile spread across his face, as if he couldn't quite believe what had happened.

Cordelia bit her lip, unable to stop a smile. 'I never asked you how _your_ day was,' she noted breathlessly.

James shook his head slightly and smiled down at her. He leaned in closer, whispering his response against her lips: 'Spectacular.'

* * *

_**October 4**_

* * *

Barbara was alone when Scorpius approached her. He tapped her on the shoulder and—successful at catching her attention—said, 'I'm sorry about Saturday.'

'Don't be,' the Head Girl replied, 'I'm fine. Oh,' she added, 'and I meant to thank you. For—you know—'

'—trying like any reasonable person would have to stop you from plummeting to the ground?'

Barbara nodded. 'Yeah. And for...'

'...and for losing the game?'

She laughed slightly. 'That, too. Sorry we gave you such a brutal game—Roxanne is... insane. Incredibly dangerous.'

'How do you know I wasn't just trying to get the Snitch from you, though?' Scorpius asked. 'You know, when you fell?'

'Because you and I have both played Quidditch long enough to know that I had already caught it—the game was over.'

Scorpius nodded. He hadn't just been trying to get the Snitch. He had seen Barbara being hit and—even though she probably would have been fine anyway—after seeing her crumple, her hand still clasped around the little golden ball; after hearing Weasley cry out, just like the rest of the crowd... it just didn't feel right to let her fall.

He didn't reply—he didn't know what to say. Thankfully, Barbara seemed to understand. She smiled at him. 'Thanks, Scorpius.'

'To say "any time" would be a lie,' he replied. She chuckled and turned away, probably to head to Charms, which was the closest class in the direction she was heading.

Scorpius raised a hand to wave, even though he knew she could not see him, before heading off to find Patricia where he had left her on the way to Transfiguration.

* * *

They had never really been friends, but because they were required to group into partnerships and there wasn't really anyone else cool in Muggle Studies, Albus and Patricia found themselves conversing for the first time in too long.

This didn't mean they had been best friends once or anything, but Patricia always liked talking to Albus. He was funny and non-discriminative—which meant he really didn't care if she was in Slytherin and he wasn't.

'When was the last time we talked?' she asked.

'Er... third year,' realized Albus. He set down the model aeroplane they had been labelling and elaborated: 'I think it was because James went out with your cousin.'

Patricia nodded, then busied herself with assessing the angles of the aeroplane's wings. 'Does your brother just snog anything he can get his hands on?'

'Nah,' Albus said. 'Being female is a contributing factor.'

'Have you talked to Cordelia since they got together?'

Albus breathed out, and Patricia thought she saw something cross his face that looked a little hurt. What hadn't she been told?

'Yeah, of course. We're still mates,' he amended. 'But now every time I look at her I can't help but wonder how many times they've kissed.'

Patricia jotted the angle of the aeroplane's wing down on a piece of parchment and asked, 'what did you think about before? When you looked at her, I mean.'

Albus opened his mouth and closed it again without speaking. He shrugged nonchalantly. 'I don't know; I used to...' When he didn't continue, Patricia pressed the point. She knew it was probably nothing, and that she shouldn't have being trying to find out so badly, but she continued to do so until Albus gave in. 'Fine—okay? Is this what you want to hear?' He sighed. 'When I looked at her before... I used to think about how beautiful she was. How smart.'

Patricia gasped. 'Sorry,' she said quickly. 'I didn't mean to pressure you! I mean, if you didn't want to—do you fancy her?' she whispered.

Albus exhaled. 'I suppose that's it. Everyone can see it—I'm surprised she hasn't done—'

'—What? Slow down; hold on. Who else knows?'

'Andy from Hufflepuff'—Albus gestured to the girl sitting across the classroom with another member of her house—'won't stop teasing me about it.'

He looked surprised when Patricia giggled. She knew Andy; they had somehow become friends a few years back—she wasn't surprised that somehow _Andy _had been the one to crack it. The Hufflepuff always seemed to befriend blokes well. (Getting close to them and getting close to desserts were two of Andy's top talents.)

'Do you fancy Scorpius, then?' Albus asked, when she explained why she found Andy's snooping so funny. 'Come on, don't look so shocked—you know who I like, it's only fair that I know who _you_ do.'

Patricia rolled her eyes. 'Promise you won't tell _anyone_?'

'Hey,' Albus reminded, 'you know about Cordelia!'

'Fine,' she muttered. 'Yes. I do.'


	15. The Messiah and the Metamorphmagus

**Disclaimer:** Nothing in relation to Potter is mine; end of story. (But not the end of this one!)

**AN:** Thank you for all the wonderful reviews of the last chapter! They're always such a joy to read! And in response to **NinjaByBirth123**: thank you for making me feel like I'm creating ships—especially ones that conflict with one another (e.g. Barbara and Scorpius as opposed to Barbara and Fred)—because I've always wanted to write something that made people think of ships! This doesn't make sense but _aah_! _Thank you_!

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

"**The Messiah and the Metamorphmagus"**

**Or**

"**The Universe's Hit List of Sanity".**

* * *

_**October 5**_

* * *

'Neville!'

The Professor turned around and looked incredibly shocked to see _himself_ approaching with a grin on his face. The second Neville Longbottom was wearing different clothing: jeans and a t-shirt had were a lot more contemporary than anything in the forty-three-year-old had in his wardrobe.

'Or should I say "Professor Longbottom"?'

Neville's clone's hair turned turquoise and grew longer, his features becoming more elfin. He grew, as well, until Neville only reached his eyes. Teddy Lupin put up a hand to wave as the older man smiled.

'Teddy! Why didn't you tell me you were coming today?'

Teddy shrugged. 'I said this week.'

'You didn't say "Wednesday", though!' Neville clapped him on the back. 'Did you bring Victoire with you?'

They left the entrance hall in the direction of the greenhouses. There didn't seem to be too many people outside this afternoon; it was viciously overcast, and rain was definitely on the way.

'No—er—she's staying down in Hogsmeade with Dominique at the moment; the flat above the shop has two bedrooms, so she's there... helping out and whatnot.'

'Oh, all right.'

They reached the greenhouses and came to a stop. The slight movements of the venomous tentaculas inside their containers were visible from outside; the Mandrakes to which the second-year students were giving a home were climbing into each others' pots already. Surprisingly, ahead of schedule.

'So have you told anyone you're here?'

By "anyone", they both understood Neville meant "a Weasley relative of any way, shape, or form". Teddy shook his head, 'I think I'll leave it a surprise until just before dinner—that way, I should get my greetings in without causing a scene in the Great Hall.'

'Wouldn't be the first time this year,' said Neville. He bustled about the greenhouse to which he had just opened the door. He looked back at Teddy, who dodged a flying vine and caught up. 'Didn't you hear about that?'

'Victoire and I have been in France,' he explained. 'Visiting the Delacours. Haven't really had time to gossip.'

Neville decided that it was probably better Teddy heard it from him than someone else publicly, and so he notified the young man about what had happened with Rose and Scorpius Malfoy. By the time he finished, the sky had turned pink and Teddy was cursing. He apologized for doing so, but there really was no need: it had taken all the Professor had not to burst out in a raucous rant at the table, witnessing it firsthand.

'I really expected more of Rose,' Teddy said, finally calming down enough not to be using swear words. 'Not that I have any beef with Malfoy; I mean—of course I do: his Great Aunt killed my mum, therefore preventing me from having a childhood other than one involving me being raised by Harry and my grandmother and the person who ended up killing Malfoy's Great Aunt—but,' he noted, exhaling, 'long-standing emotional trauma can wait for now. I still can't believe Rose snogged a _Malfoy_.'

'And got punched in the face.'

Teddy, having played Quidditch for so long, didn't really put too much weight on physical injuries. But for the sake of the conversation, he agreed: 'That, too.'

Neville took a look outside the greenhouse window and said, 'it's getting late. I think you should go—you know, if you don't want to cause a riot.'

'No,' concurred Teddy; 'Riots should, if avoidable, be prevented.' He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door. 'I should go.'

* * *

Teddy didn't have far to go before encountering his soon-to-be relatives. Louis caught sight of him just outside the entrance hall, and they recounted their last month's doings on the lawn before going in. Rose and Hugo were talking to each other about letters their parents had written—well, their mother, for Ron was still too miffed to talk to Rose—and they both hurried over at the sight of him, throwing their arms around him.

'You don't know where the others are, do you?'

'James, Al, Lily, Fred, and Roxanne are at Quidditch practice,' said Hugo. 'They should be finishing up soon.'

'And I saw Molly on the second floor,' Rose put in, 'so she shouldn't be long either.'

Teddy was overjoyed to see them—really, he was—but seeing Rose made her relationship with Scorpius seem all the more real. Teddy had never actually _seen_ the boy, but he'd heard an awful lot from James and Fred which made him no longer think he wanted to. He can't have been bad at Quidditch, though; which Teddy couldn't class as a positive or negative.

'Teddy!' Molly cried, leaving Archie and dashing over to embrace him. Myers skulked his way into the Great Hall alone, sure that his girlfriend wouldn't return. 'Oh, it's so great to see you!'

'You, too!' he replied. 'What's this I hear about Myers—was that him?'

Molly blushed. She was obviously expecting to get stick for dating Saucepan Face, and looked thankful when Teddy held off. Lucy, who had been watching the Gryffindor Quidditch practice, arrived a moment before her cousins; she hadn't been eager to hang around and wait for them to change. At the sight of Teddy, she grinned and just about ran towards them.

'Hey!' said Teddy, ruffling her hair up with one of his hands as the other gave her a quick squeeze. 'You're not like, five anymore—what's up with that?'

At last, the Gryffindor Quidditch players arrived. They were changed out of their uniforms and did not seem to be paying much attention to their surroundings. James and Albus were in deep conversation about something; Fred was chatting with a pretty brunette that Teddy guessed was Barbara—who he had heard so much about from everyone: _Fred's in love_, _Fred fancies this girl like mad_—while Wood, Lily, and Roxanne muttered from behind about it.

James noticed him first. '_Teddy_!'

He barrelled over and almost mowed Louis down in the process, engulfing Teddy—who reciprocated—in a massive bear hug. 'Merlin!' Teddy cried. 'It's been—what—a month? And you already seem to have grown half a foot.'

'Maybe that's because I'm not twelve anymore, Ted,' James replied, still grinning.

Lily and Albus careened over, Teddy hugging them both at the same time: 'Whoa, Al; same applies to you—_how_ did you get so tall?'

Fred and Roxanne, as well as Wood and Barbara, approached. Fred high-fived Teddy and Roxanne was clasped into a strong arm. He said his hellos to them and then grinned at the two non-Weasleys they had brought with them.

'Hey, Wood; Hey, Barbara.'

Wood said, 'hey,' and Barbara, 'hi,' while looking as though she couldn't really understand why Teddy knew who she was. Of course, she was probably still oblivious to Fred's feelings.

_Girls_.

* * *

Dinner was crowded by conversation—'oh, Merlin, Teddy Lupin's back; he's _so_ dishy' or 'I heard he and Victoire Weasley are engaged: _so_ cute!'—and barely anyone could concentrate on eating when they saw a familiar turquoise head of hair at the end of the teachers' table.

The Hufflepuff table was no exception. Andy was sat in amongst her friends, but her attention wasn't on the meal. She, like so many others—but like none of her friends, for anyone above a fifth year knew that Teddy was unattainable—had her attention set on the staff table at the front of the hall.

She had never met Teddy Lupin, but she knew he was a great friend of the Potters. He was tall, muscular, and decidedly handsome. Though this didn't really matter, Andy supposed, because she had been told he was a metamorphmagus, and could therefore change his appearance at will. She watched him do it now, impressing Professor Flitwick with changing of hair colour: turquoise to magenta to fuchsia to gold to tangerine.

'You haven't got your eye on _him_, have you?' said the girl beside Andy. She was her little sister, who went by the name of Jenna. They possessed the same thick dark hair, but obviously Andy was a lot less conspicuous than her sister; at least Jenna knew how to keep her feelings secret. (Perhaps Andy and Albus both shared that trait: inability to keep one's feelings to oneself.)

'What—and you haven't?'

'No, you thicko,' Jenna chastised. 'He's like—what, twenty-five?—and he's _engaged_.'

'Well,' said Andy, 'for your information: I _don't_ have my eye on him. It's not like Lottie Flanagan over there—look at her, she's positively _drooling_—it's just... what's the harm? It's not like I'll ever speak to him.'

Jenna raised her eyebrows. 'Damn well you won't. Can't have _you_ embarrassing me at every turn.'

'Thanks, Jen.'

'My pleasure—now stop staring.'

Andy removed her gaze from the Professors' table and instead tried to focus on the meal in front of her. It really _was_ a pity that Seamy couldn't just send her desserts. At this rate, she would without a doubt be sneaking down tonight. Taking a bite of the roast lamb on her plate and dipping it into the mint jelly beside, Andy's attention turned instead to how long she could just keep her head down and shut up. That seemed like a worthwhile plan—then perhaps she wouldn't get so many questions like the one from Jenna. She _didn't_ fancy Teddy Lupin. She _didn't_. In fact, she didn't even know the bloke, so where was the worth in—

'Why can't you ever fancy anyone _attainable_?' Jenna moaned, obviously not as bent on letting the conversation go as her sister was. 'Like Albus Potter, for example. He's smart, nice, good at Quidditch—a right dish, actually—'

'—he's _taken_,' Andy reasoned, trying to get over the shock of what her sister had said and at the same time managing to dislodge a piece of pumpkin from where it had stuck itself in her throat.

'What?' cried Jenna. 'By who?'

Andy held her hands up to stop a dramatic display. 'I don't mean he's _taken_ taken, I mean "he fancies someone". And I know who it is.'

Jenna's eyes widened. 'You _do_?'

'Yes I do, as a matter of fact. Why are you so concerned? It's not as if he'd go out with you—you're a _fifth_-year.'

'His brother's dating Cordelia,' Jenna protested, 'and _she's_ a year younger!'

Andy's spirits fell at the mention of Cordelia. Why did her sister have to bring up the precise relationship that was probably ruining Al's life? Why was Jenna such an idiot? Why were they even _having_ this conversation?

'Yeah,' she said in a deflated tone. 'James _is_ dating Cordelia.' Before Jenna could ask the question she had opened her mouth for, Andy thundered on: 'But that's irrelevant. I don't fancy Albus Potter _or_ Teddy Lupin; and the two of them _certainly_ don't have feelings for me. End of story. Can we please move on now?'

Jenna frowned. 'Fine. But you can't just marry _cake_, Andy.'

'Don't you dare try to tell me what I can and cannot do, young sister. You will always be proven wrong.'

And with that, the dessert course appeared, and Andy's point was made.

* * *

_**October 6**_

* * *

'I have _got_ to introduce you to Teddy,' insisted James. He took Cordelia's hand and tried to drag her outside to where Teddy and Hagrid were entertaining some fourth-years with Blast-Ended Skrewts. She didn't budge.

'And _I_ have _got_ to go to Arithmancy.'

'Can't you be late for _one_ lesson?' He thought over his words and then shook his head before Cordelia could reply. 'Of course not—you're Cordelia Gilbert.'

She looked apologetic and said, 'I'm sorry—I promise: at lunch. Proper introduction and everything.'

James raised his eyebrows. 'You sure? Not going to head off to the library, or leave me alone with Dominique?'

'Oh, shut up, you!' Cordelia swatted him with her free hand. 'Yes, I'm sure. Oh, look—there's Al; I'd best go catch up.' Her hand slipped out of James as she pulled yet further away, her eyes still on him. Though James looked a tiny bit discontent, and scrunched up his face and agreed.

'Meet you here, right after your last morning lesson.'

She nodded and hurried across the hall to reach Al. He seemed to have seen her from afar and stayed behind to keep her company. 'Morning,' he said easily.

'Hey,' replied Cordelia, her tone quick. The two of them continued to follow in the tide of the other students who were making their way up the stairs. The crowd dispatched and Cordelia found she and Albus were caught behind a gossiping set of younger girls who—by the look of their scarves—seemed to be in Slytherin. Their conversation—since they weren't trying particularly hard to hide it—seemed to revolve around the love life of none other than _Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy_.

Three minutes later, just as they passed the statue of Gregory the Smarmy, these girls went down a different passage, and Cordelia and Albus both burst out laughing. It had been hard to contain their mirth before; they had been communicating between themselves with red faces and chuckles that threatened to surge through their desperately shut lips. Albus put a hand over his heart and said in an uncanny impression, 'I _swear_. I don't know how he handles it—do you think he wakes up in the morning and just goes "oh _Merlin_ I'm flawless"?—do you think he does?—I think I'll ask. Perhaps he'll let me in on the secret. The secret... _of his flawlessness_!'

They passed a couple of Hufflepuffs who probably thought Albus was insane as Cordelia just about sank to the floor in mirth. She was staggering for breath still, and letting out little peals of laughter, when they entered the Arithmancy room. Scorpius, who was sitting towards the back, thankfully did not notice as Albus and Cordelia hurried to their seats and hooted into their hands.

Over the course of the lesson, there were a few moments during which either Albus or Cordelia could not contain their laughter, for it is often the case that one remembers something incredibly hilarious at an extremely inappropriate time. One of these giggling fits—thankfully none were too loud or noticeable and so neither Albus nor Cordelia was punished—had the Gryffindor sobbing into a chart they were supposed to be looking for patterns in. They escaped the lesson with bright cheeks and slightly teary eyes, then headed down to Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Standing at the back of the classroom, facing away from the students, was a dark-haired wizard. He was leaning against a beam, going over something in his hands that they couldn't see. The sixth-year students were supposed to be learning about non-verbal spells, and had not been made aware they were going to have a guest speaker until they arrived at the lesson. Albus, Cordelia noticed, was looking at the man as though there was something familiar in the hunch of his shoulders, but he couldn't quite place it.

Then the wizard turned around and the whole class realized why.

The man was Harry Potter.

* * *

'You lot seem shocked to see me,' Harry noted. 'Please—take a seat.'

They followed his instruction and found Mr. Potter shaking his head, more at himself than the students. 'Okay, that was a bit daft of me,' he said. 'The whole point of this class is practical application. You won't learn anything if you're sitting down—I'm not very good at this teaching business, am I?'

Cordelia looked sidelong at Albus, whose face was more awkward than embarrassed; the rest of the class was too rapt with what the famous Auror Harry Potter had to say. They all stood quickly and spread out around the free space in the large room at Harry's request.

'So my understanding is that you've been learning about non-verbal spells,' said Harry, 'which is—of course—using spells without actually saying the words. The purpose of a non-verbal spell is...' He faded off and made it apparent that he was waiting for a student's answer.

Cordelia's hand shot up, and he pointed to show it was she who should speak (although Rose's hand had raised as well; perhaps it was because Cordelia was quite tall and at the front and therefore much easier to see): 'The purpose of a non-verbal spell is to prevent your opponent from being aware of what you're about to do; saying a spell aloud makes it quite easy to counter because the opposition knows what to expect: however, non-verbal spells wouldn't really matter if the person you're up against is a Legilimens, but we haven't discussed that in class so I don't think that was a valid point to mention.'

She said this all very quickly and clearly and the rest of the class—if they weren't rolling their eyes with 'oh, of course, this is Cordelia talking'—was left rather befuddled. However, Mr. Potter looked impressed. Almost like he had expected this tangent, or heard people responding in a manner similar once before. He asked the name of the girl who had so well explained the point.

'Cordelia,' she said. 'Cordelia Gilbert.'

A light seemed to flick on in Mr. Potter's head, like 'oh, this is the girl who my son fancies—and she seems to be friends with Al, too', but he didn't say anything and instead set them the task of splitting up into groups of two and practicing non-verbal spells on one-another. They attempted this, with some people—like Albus and Rose and Cordelia and Louis—doing very well, while others were still muttering incantations under their breaths and hoping to the high heavens that they weren't caught. Evan Cadwallader fell over and Mr. Potter helped him up before commending the class on their over-all success at the subject, then telling them that he would be at Hogwarts for the rest of the week if anyone wanted to ask anything more. Then he sent them out to lunch.

* * *

'I met your dad,' Cordelia said by way of "hello" as she came up behind James in the entrance hall. He looked somehow taller than usual, the Quidditch-given muscles in his arms accentuated by the shirt he was wearing; she hadn't had time to take a proper look earlier in the day. His dark hair was messy and shot out in different directions at the front; somehow, he made it look attractive.

'You did?' he asked, smiling slightly. 'What—in Defence? He mentioned he'd be coming up for a talk.'

She nodded. 'But I s'pose it wasn't so much a meeting as him as him asking a question and me answering it and then him asking my name and me telling him _Cordelia Gilbert_... but what's the technicality really?'

James shook his head to show it didn't really matter. 'Unfortunately,' he said, like what he was about to say had happened under the most rotten of luck, 'Ted's gone down to Hogsmeade to see Vic for the rest of the day—no thanks to _you_, because you wouldn't meet him at breakfast!—and he won't be back until tomorrow, which shouldn't be too bad _as long as you don't run away again_.'

Cordelia hit him, but she was chuckling. 'Stop being such a sod!' she said. 'Now: you've seen me, and Teddy isn't here, can I go eat lunch?'

'I don't know,' said James annoyingly. '_Can_ you?'

Cordelia punched him—'I don't know why I fancy you; you're so irritating!'—and left.

* * *

_**October 7**_

* * *

_You look at people differently when you know who they fancy_, thought Patricia. She was sitting at the Slytherin table with Scorpius; they had arrived early, and now her attention was focused on the people entering the hall. She spotted Albus and Cordelia walking in together: the way he looked at her was almost impossible to not marvel at. He seemed to incredibly pleased about nothing in particular, which made Patricia feel all the more upset. She imagined what life would be like for her, if Scorpius started dating her successful older sister. Then again, she didn't _have_ a successful older sister—she had a brother, but he wasn't a successful _anything_ and she'd known Scorpius long enough to know he wouldn't be interested in a bloke.

'Why are you staring at Potter?'

Reverie shattered, Patricia looked over at Scorpius, for it had been he who had asked the question. Before she could respond, he continued: 'Don't fancy him, do you? I heard you two were getting pretty chummy in Muggle Studies...' He wagged his eyebrows and Patricia laughed. She swatted at him.

'_No_, I do not fancy Potter.'

'Not _that_ Potter, or not _any _Potter?'

Patricia raised her eyebrows. 'I don't believe I fancy James—'

'Who said anything about James?' suggested Scorpius, his eyebrows wagging again. 'You could be getting in with Li—'

'—You disgusting pervert!' Patricia snapped, brandishing the knife with which she had been eating. 'Not _any_ Potter!'

Scorpius fell about laughing and Patricia glowered at him, though she couldn't put her entire energy into it. One simply cannot think badly of the person they fancy. It was too contradictory. She set about finishing the pudding on her plate and rolled her eyes on cue when Scorpius said 'I couldn't help myself—I'm sorry!' in regards to his depraved innuendo. Lunchtime came to an end, and afternoon lessons began: Scorpius and Patricia heading off to History of Magic.

* * *

Scorpius decided that if Shelley Corner was only right at one time in her entire life, he would be grateful. Provided, of course, that this one time was the incident in which she told him to go ahead and just snog Patricia senseless. He was sitting through what seemed to be the most boring, prolonged History of Magic lesson since the beginning of time, and was mulling the idea over—sure, he'd like to. Definitely. It would be an upfront, easy, _wordless_ way to make her aware of how he felt. But then again, if she did not reciprocate, then things would be worse than they ever had been. Plus, snogging Patricia didn't seem like the best "in" he could think of, because what had nearly got him chucked "out" had been snogging Rose Weasley.

He wondered if it was a good thing or a bad thing that he had been pondering his feelings for Patricia whilst still with Rose. They hadn't been the most exclusive, committed couple—what they had barely even qualified as a relationship—but nonetheless, girls usually didn't like it when a bloke was thinking about whether or not he might fancy someone else. _Especially_ if the girl in question didn't really like the girl you were thinking about fancying.

Scorpius had been about nine years old when he first met Patricia. It had been at a gathering his parents had had, and they were the only two children there—there _were_ other ones, he supposed, but they were all out of the age group and were more interested in skulking in dark corners than talking to a couple of under-tens—so, of course, they became fast friends. Being in the same Hogwarts house made them a lot closer—most of the other Slytherin boys in their year were nice enough, but Scorpius always preferred Patricia's company. It wasn't anything to do with being overly camp or something like that, it was just that she knew him and he knew her and no one else mattered because they had each other.

Around third or fourth year, he started toying with the idea of perhaps _fancying_ Patricia, because they were so close and she was a girl and she really was quite pretty even if she insisted otherwise... but then Scorpius told himself not to mess things up: that anything he wanted between them wouldn't work out, and thus the idea was trapped inside his mind. He never acted on it.

'...In the year 1342,' Professor Binns was lecturing, 'the Goblins of the island of Bermuda made a trip to the...'

Scorpius tuned out again. He could ask Cordelia for notes, or perhaps pay the library a long unwanted visit. It really wasn't as though the trials and tribulations of goblin-kind would have a lasting effect on his life.

But the decision whether or not to rekindle the long suppressed feelings he had for his best friend... that was a completely different story.

* * *

_**October 8**_

* * *

'I've been meaning to ask for a while,' said Barbara, 'why is it that Teddy knows me?'

Fred tried to look nonchalant. He voiced what was a possible reason, out of many that were either more plausible or more true. 'You've been to the Burrow enough times, haven't you?'

'Yeah,' she reasoned, clearly dissatisfied, 'but he and Victoire were never there; it's not like we ever actually, properly _met_ before Wednesday.'

'Well,' Fred tried, listing another viable cause, 'perhaps James mentioned the Quidditch team to him or something—could've been me, actually; I mean, we _have_ been mates for ages.'

'But if it was that,' said Barbara, 'you would have said that straight away, wouldn't you?'

'What makes you say that?'

'Well it only makes sense, Fred!'

_A_ _valid argument_, thought Fred, who then reprimanded himself because the word choice of "a valid argument" was possibly the stupidest thing to cross his mind all day—and there were definitely contenders for that position. What was happening to him? It was as though the universe's logic was unravelling; with Fred Weasley II's sanity first on the hit list. He dodged a second-year and followed Barbara out to the Quidditch pitch, where Gryffindor had a scheduled practice.

'I didn't say something to offend you, did I?'

Fred shook his head, then realized what a dumb thing that had been; Barbara was on the opposite side of the changing room, where the girls got in and out of their uniforms, away from the prying eyes of their male teammates. Instead he called, 'no, of course not! What makes you say that?'

There was a scuffling sound, which Fred guessed was Barbara either undressing—a thought he forced himself _not_ to complete—or pulling on the Gryffindor uniform. He felt even more like a sinner when the voice of the Head Girl replied: 'You went all silent; I thought it was something I said.'

_More like the crippling urge to pitch myself off the Astronomy Tower for being such a dense twat_.

'Nah, I've just got a lot to think about.'

He lied through his teeth and didn't find it convincing as he pulled on the regulation padding over his uniform, working on the tightness of the straps until they were satisfactory. He was pulling on his boots when Barbara said, 'just tell me when you're done so I can come out, okay?'

She was always one of the earliest to suit up, because the Seeker's uniform was the lightest—weight seemed to go against the position's demand for agility—and Fred hurried to pull on his second boot because he didn't want her waiting too long. 'It's fine; I'm ready.'

Three seconds later, broom in hand, Barbara appeared. 'We're not too late, are we?'

'Course not; if anything, we're early.' They emerged onto the pitch and it was only James there, getting out the crate of equipment. 'See?' Fred said, pointing to his cousin. 'It's only the Captain so far.'

Barbara hurried ahead to help James unpack and Fred dawdled behind.

_Yes_, he decided, _my sanity will definitely be the first to go_.


	16. A Spot of Over Thinking

**Disclaimer:** I do not take any responsibility for the genius behind the world-renowned _Harry Potter_ series. I _do_, however, take responsibility for this story in all its inadequacy.

**AN:** Once again, thank you for reading and reviewing my story! If you want to check it out, there's actually a blog ( thethirdpottergeneration . tumblr . com ) where you can talk to me, send in questions or headcanons—or fan art, which drives me absolutely mental with excitement, I kid you not; I'm looking at you, **andyisasexydinosaur**—read excerpts, and get future updates on what might be happening in _Potters, Weasleys, and Misguided Snogging_. So, yeah, check that out if you want.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

"**A Spot of Over-Thinking"**

**Or**

"**Meeting The Cousins".**

* * *

_**October 9**_

* * *

The Potter family seemed to have made a habit of snooping on Ravenclaw Quidditch practices. However, this time, James was not present; Albus, his father, and Teddy sat in the stands and were trying their best not to be bothersome. Albus had actually told Cordelia he would sit with his back to the pitch if that made her feel any better; he was now paying the price of a slightly sore spine and nothing to lean against for support.

'When I first met her,' said Harry Potter, 'she reminded me a bit of the way Hermione used to be at school—you know, deathly intelligent and able to explain things like they'd come straight out of a book?'

They were—of course—talking about Cordelia. Albus had unwillingly relayed to Teddy and his father the dilemma he was under, and they were more than sympathetic; Harry was a tiny bit confused, because finding out both of his sons fancied the same girl was a bit too much for one day. But still, if this was the height of the turmoil his children were facing, he wasn't upset.

'But now,' he continued, watching Cordelia fly around the pitch giving orders and policing plays, 'she seems a lot more like your mum.'

'It's the Quidditch, isn't it?'

Harry nodded. Ginny's time on the Holyhead Harpies was long at its end, but he couldn't help remembering the skill and drive with which she played—the same thing, he found, was mirrored in Cordelia.

'Well,' Teddy said, 'if one of you ever brings her round for a family game of Quidditch, I want her on my team.'

Albus appreciated what Teddy was trying to do: "if one of you", but now that Cordelia was with James, there was never any hope for Albus. He would never be anything more to her romantically than the Second Potter Brother. Despite himself, Albus smiled a little bit. "Second Potter Syndrome", Andy had said. It was finally starting to creep up on him.

'You've got two options,' decided Teddy, setting his hands down on his knees. 'You can either tell her how you feel, Al—which could go two ways: it could be good for you and bad for James, or bad for you and bad for Cordelia—and that makes it sound terrible, because that doesn't seem like there's a win in any way, shape, or form, but honestly: at least you'll have it off your chest. _Or_,' he said, 'alternatively, you can keep this to yourself until it blows over and you find someone else. I mean, you aren't in _love_ with her or anything, are you?'

'Of course not,' Albus tried to expel. 'I'm sixteen! Love at sixteen—it's impractical.'

'_I_ started fancying your mother when I was sixteen,' Harry pointed out. His eyes had not moved from the game, and he was still watching Cordelia's leadership with something of an analytical eye.

'Yes, dad, but I'm not the Chosen One or The Boy Who Lived or—'

'—well, no,' Harry admitted. 'But you _are_ a Potter.'

Albus raised his eyebrows. 'Why are you two pushing this? Are you forgetting about the other Potter son? You know—James? Cordelia's actual proper _boyfriend_?'

'No,' said Harry. 'Of course we're not forgetting. But personally,' he added, 'if she was the girl for you—as brilliant as she is—she would be _with_ you, and not going out with James.'

'What are you frowning for?' Teddy noticed. 'Isn't that what you wanted to hear?'

'Well, _yeah_,' Albus supposed, 'but I didn't expect it as frank as that.'

'The truth hurts,' consoled Teddy. And then, more alert, he added: 'They're finished! Let's go—it's dinnertime. Unless you want to wait?' He asked Albus, which seemed pointless really, because they were already halfway out of the stands.

'No,' said Albus. 'What's the point of self-inflicted heartache?'

* * *

Rose was alone when she reached the Great Hall. Her friends had come down earlier, but she herself hadn't been feeling well. Upon closer inspection—and by "closer inspection" she meant "alone time"—she realized that it wasn't physical sickness that was bothering her: it was emotional. Rose had taken the time to do some serious thinking and decided that what Liz had said a week or two ago at breakfast had been completely correct: "You sound like a bit of bitch".

She _did_. She had been.

She wasn't completely sure why she had been so despicable lately; only one thing she knew to the point of positivity: the bitchiness had begun with Scorpius. He wasn't the person who had made her into the mean, gossipmonger she had become; no, it wasn't that. Just the whole secrecy of the operation, the punch to the face from his best friend, being humiliated in front of the whole school for something she had _known _was wrong and still done anyway...

If anything, she had needed to be _nicer_.

With this decision in mind—to be as kind as she possibly could be—Rose headed down to dinner. She was one of the last people to arrive: food was already lain across the tables in a way that, from afar, appeared almost lavish. Thankfully, there was an empty spot beside Melissa for Rose to slide into.

'Well, I've completed my serious life contemplation for this week,' she said by way of greeting. 'What have I missed?'

Lottie and Liz, who were sitting opposite, exchanged looks, like they weren't sure if she was making a joke. Fortunately, they did not choose to bring it up.

'Nothing major,' Lottie informed. 'Just a bit from Sprout about how well things are going with school, how there haven't been many detentions or something like that.'

Melissa snorted. 'No,' she said. 'Sprout was talking about the next Hogsmeade weekend—which you would _know_ if you weren't ogling Teddy Lupin.'

'He's like _twenty-four_,' Liz admonished.

This was not what Rose wanted to witness at dinner, especially since the twenty-four-year-old in question was about to get married to her oldest cousin. Instead, while this conversation lingered on and Lottie's taste in men was heavily questioned, Rose tried to focus the meal in front of her.

Liz was still chastising when she finished her potatoes. 'If they're not too old, Lottie, they're pricks.'

'It's a wonder you've not gone after the _actual_ Prikk,' Melissa sniggered.

Lottie sniffed. 'He's a—'

'—_Slytherin_!' Liz and Melissa finished together. According to Lottie, a "Slytherin" was the worst thing a person could be, criminals excluded. In a way, Rose was almost offended. Had they reacted this way after finding out about _her_ relationship?

She reminded herself that she had been in their constant presence after they found out about what had happened with her and Scorpius. Liz had had a "serves you right" kind of attitude, Melissa had been appalled, and Lottie—if anything—was really just interested. Still, they had different elective classes to her and these would have been a perfect time to talk smack about Outrageous Old Rosie without her finding out.

_You're being ridiculous_, she told herself. _These girls have been your best friends since first year_. _Have a little faith in them_.

'Are you all right, Rose?'

She looked up at Lottie, eyebrows raised. 'Yeah, yeah; of course.'

And for once, she wasn't telling a lie.

* * *

Cordelia arrived at the sixth-year Ravenclaw dormitory to find, instead, a battle ground. The raised voices—clearly belonging to her roommates—could be heard from the hall. She made awkward eye contact with a seventh year and hurried inside.

Shelley was standing beside her four-poster, her eyes filled with hard, vicious anger. At the other side of the room was Bridget; Sarah and Tabitha at her side. They, too, looked murderous.

'Why do you always have to wreck _everything_ for _everyone_?' shouted Sarah.

Shelley fumed. 'Don't try to make me sound like the bad guy for having the guts to take what I want!'

'Even when it's _not available_!' Bridget exclaimed, throwing her hands up as if she couldn't take it anymore. The hairbrush she had been brandishing at Shelley flew out of her grasp and Cordelia caught it from the doorway. They finally seemed to notice she had arrived. 'Cordelia!' cried Bridget, resuming her raised tone. 'Corner over here'—she pointed at Shelley to make sure Cordelia knew she meant the person and not one of the actual corners of the room—'is planning to break you and James up somehow!'

'We heard her and Tabitha arguing about it before dinner!' Sarah affirmed.

Shelley screeched; her palms curling up, absolutely irate. Her hair, which had been in a braid for most of Saturday, was now hanging out around her shoulders; it was so long that every time she moved, it looked as though it were alive. 'You have no idea what you're talking about!'

'We do, _actually_,' mumbled Tabitha, who seemed more interested in the carpet than the argument battling on in front of her.

'What,' Shelley cried dramatically, 'is wrong with me _finally_ finding someone I fancy, and wanting to be with them?'

Sarah rolled her eyes. 'Don't try and make this a Shelley Sob-Story—it won't work!'

When faced with this, Shelley rounded on Cordelia. 'Don't you want to put your two cents in?' she said scathingly. '_You're_ the reason this whole thing happened; if you weren't so _damn_ per—'

'I didn't _ask_ James to fancy me!' Cordelia vociferated. 'I didn't _beg_ him to be my boyfriend. Sometimes—_Shelley_—relationships revolve around _both_ people having feelings for each other; so if two people are happy together,' she said, 'you leave them alone.'

And with nowhere to go, and nothing to do but seethe, the Ravenclaw girls retired to bed.

* * *

_**October 10**_

* * *

It was a Hogsmeade Sunday—for the dates differed; sometimes Saturday, sometimes Sunday—and, as usual, the line for getting out and into the village was frightfully long. Louis had argued when Albus tried to shake him out of bed, and so they were fifteen minutes later than they had intended to be. The two boys were standing behind Connor Wilson, who was trying to converse with Shelley Corner; the girl was back to her old get-up of a see-through top and a leopard print undershirt, with leggings and a tiny skirt. The only things that seemed sensible in the Autumn weather were her boots and the puffy jacket draped around her shoulders. Shelley didn't seem to be paying much attention to Wilson, but this wasn't really too much of a shame, because the boy looked more interested in investigating Shelley's risqué clothing choices, both furtive and delighted as he did so.

The line moved forward a few paces and Shelley turned around, noticing where Wilson's eyes were. She put a hand on one hip and said, 'I was just wondering... would you like to go to The Three Broomsticks?' Then, as if tired, she stretched, and Wilson agreed post-haste.

Albus and Louis looked sidelong at one-another, eyebrows raised. They were now towards the front of the line, and as Wilson and Shelley hurried off down the road to Hogsmeade, Filch began his prodding Sensor check on the two of them.

'Do you think the old bloke gets depressed when no one's sneaking anything out?' Louis asked when they were free of the caretaker, and safely out of earshot.

'I wouldn't know,' said Albus. 'But it must get right boring—having to clean up after all of us.'

Louis nodded, his eyes on the street ahead. 'I was in the library the other day; _not by choice_,' he clarified at Albus's surprised look, 'and I overheard these Hufflepuffs—must've been about, fourth year?—talking smack about Filch. Pince showed up, not thirty seconds after they mentioned his name, and she chucked them out of the library.'

'I always wondered if there was something going on with those two.'

'Well, yeah,' said Louis. 'If he's not married to that bloody cat of his.'

Mrs. Norris followed Filch everywhere, and it had been the ambition of many a Hogwarts student to douse her in cold water or swing her a good fifteen yards. In third year, James had coaxed Mrs. Norris into the Black Lake and earned himself two weeks of detentions. It was the only wrongdoing their parents ever congratulated him on, Albus remembered.

He and Louis reached the beginning of Hogsmeade's main street and, since The Three Broomsticks looked crowded, instead made their way up to visit Aberforth, the old, wizened owner of the Hog's Head. It turned out, there was some kind of meeting being held, and the ancient wizard, whose beard had long grown white, wouldn't even open the door.

'Humph,' Louis muttered, 'that was _well_ rude of him—all we wanted to do was pay a visit.'

'Come on.' Albus pulled him along to Honeyduke's, where it was always warm and sweet-smelling with the aroma of confectionary. He ignored the blatant reminder of Cordelia, who always seemed to smell this way, and instead ventured further into the shop in search of some Droobles.

* * *

'Two butterbeers, then?'

The waitress was noticeably younger than Madam Rosmerta, with a shaky sort of voice and voluptuous curves. She waited for the two Slytherins in front of her to confirm their order before nodding and setting off to retrieve it.

The Three Broomsticks wasn't too crowded, but that may have been due to the haste which with they had arrived. Patricia was sat in a booth, Scorpius right beside her; they were right at the back of the pub, where no one could see them. Was the situation slightly different, Patricia could have perhaps leaned over and kissed him, but the thought made her contemplative and she pushed it from her mind before she had the chance to make an idiot of herself.

'How's October treating you, then?'

'Small talk?' she questioned, turning to look at her friend with the most judgmental of expressions. 'Really, Scorpius?'

The blonde boy shrugged his shoulders. 'Some dreamboat bloke could've caught your eye in the past week,' he said; making it sound as though it were an actual possibility.

Patricia raised her eyebrows. 'How would that happen? I spend all my time with you—everyone else thinks we're practically married.'

Scorpius chuckled. 'I'll cut you a deal, then. Considering you don't seem interested in any bloke this side of Timbuktu—if you're not _actually_ married by the time you're thirty, I _will_ marry you. '

'Thanks for having so much faith in my romantic allure.'

'Fine,' he amended. 'Twenty-five. And I certainly don't doubt your "romantic allure",' he added. 'You're funny, attractive—even _if_ you can't make a practical career choice to save your life.'

Patricia elbowed him in the side—trying not to burst into shouts and raucous hollering at the mention of him calling her attractive—and said, 'if we're getting married when I'm twenty-five, then _you'll_ be my practical choice.'

Scorpius nodded, as if this suited him. The waitress returned with two bottles of butterbeer, and two jugs in case they wanted to drink out of a glass. Scorpius thanked her as she set them down on the table and she walked away, blushing.

'So,' Patricia said, 'with our life plans cleared up; what do you want to talk about now?'

Scorpius shrugged, taking a sip of his butterbeer.

'I'd still like to know what possessed you to go after Tennant when she got hit by that Bludger.' When her best friend rolled his eyes, Patricia continued: 'I know I keep mentioning it, but that's because it was chivalrous and dead gentlemanly, I _swear_. You know,' she added, 'Barbara Tennant's very pretty. Could that have been a contributing factor?'

'No!' Scorpius protested. He hadn't hesitated, and it wasn't overly defensive. 'I—er—I've got my eye on someone else.'

'Is that so?'

'Well, yes, it is. It _is_ "so".'

'Why haven't you told me about her, then?' Patricia asked. 'Unless she's another _Gryffindor_—'

'—no; believe me, that ship has sailed—'

'—Well, why won't you tell me?'

She knew she probably shouldn't have been pressing it. The last thing she wanted to do was annoy him. Perhaps asking too much would make it obvious how she felt, and Patricia saw fit to shut up. She had been hoping for an Albus situation, but the Potter boy was much more easy to push for information than Scorpius.

'None-ya',' said Scorpius. They had gone through a phase in first or second year when "none of your business" had been shortened to "none-ya'"—neither had said it for ages.

'Oh, stop being so childish,' Patricia told him, poking her tongue out. 'But fine—thanks to _you_—I won't ask anymore questions. Just don't come running to me when she breaks your heart.'

Scorpius looked thoughtful. 'Believe me,' he said, 'if she broke my heart, I'd want to space myself as far away from you as possible.'

* * *

James held open the pink-painted door so his girlfriend could dash out of it and then slammed it shut behind her. They tried to distance themselves as far away from the teashop—and its frills, love-hearts, and snogging couples—as they could before being reduced to fits of laughter.

'Bad idea,' said James.

Cordelia, who had doubled over in hysterics, pointed at him. 'Never again,' she demanded. 'We are _never_ going in there again.'

James agreed. 'Let's give Madam Puddifoot's a wide berth from this point on.'

'Do you think couples just go in there and watch each other snog?'

The Head Boy nodded. 'I wouldn't put it past them.'

The two of them continued down the main street, avoiding Shelley Corner and Connor Wilson, who stumbled out of The Three Broomsticks and into the alleyway beside, where they abruptly started snogging—Shelley's hands planting Wilson's on her thighs and leaning back against a set of barrels so he was holding her up—and came to the end of the road, which was barren now. No one was at the front of the village; there were some third-year boys showing their female classmates the Shrieking Shack from afar, which made James wonder if he should have been keeping an eye on them.

Ultimately, though, his attention stayed on Cordelia.

'Shelley seems to have moved on,' James said, but he was just trying to make conversation.

'Well, last night we all had a massive row,' Cordelia told him, not sounding pleased about it.

They stood now, at the edge of a small section of trees, and James asked: 'About what?'

'Shelley is _apparently_ trying to steal you from me. Again.'

'Bloody hell,' said James. 'We've been together thirteen days and people are already plotting against us.'

'Thirteen days,' Cordelia noted. She moved from her place against the tree to stand right in front of him. 'How precise of you.'

'Well,' James managed—for now his stomach was doing all kinds of flip flops and somersaults, 'I like to keep track of things that are important to me.'

Cordelia smiled, but she was so close that he almost couldn't tell. 'I'm important, am I?'

'You _are_ my girlfriend,' James reminded.

'I really like the sound of that,' said Cordelia, and then she kissed him.

This was the second time they had kissed, and if things continued in the way they had been going, he would be dead by Christmas. It was like a thousand little electric shocks, every nerve in James's body—from the wayward hair on his head to the tips of his toes—was sparking up at the same time. Sure, he'd kissed other girls, but he'd never kissed them like _this_.

They broke apart and Cordelia had her hands on the front of his jacket. 'Want to go and see Teddy, then?' she asked. They hadn't had the chance to meet officially, but James had told Teddy enough about Cordelia, and Cordelia enough about Teddy, that it was almost like they had. Meeting on Thursday or Friday would have been ideal, but schedules and homework and the ever-present and ever-annoying Shelley Corner had been keeping the couple busy.

'I wasn't expecting you to look nervous,' James said, for Cordelia did, as they made their way up the street to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

'Well,' she responded, 'with the way you talk about him, Teddy Lupin seems to be the only person who's _really_ a risk of breaking up our relationship. And I don't mean _me_ falling for him,' she added, giving him a joking jab in the ribs as James threw an arm around her.

* * *

The shop was wide open and crowded at the same time. Teddy and Victoire were behind the front desk, thankfully without customers at the present time; James hauled Cordelia over to Teddy, almost like she was a gift he was particularly excited to show off, and managed to catch his attention (and Victoire's, of course).

'James,' said Victoire, looking from her cousin to the girl he had his arm around. Then she looked at Teddy. 'Is this Cordelia?'

The Ravenclaw smiled, and James nodded, though he wasn't sure why Teddy already knew who she was. 'Did you two meet without telling me?' he asked, a bit disappointed.

'No—no, of course not,' said Cordelia. 'I think your dad and Al and Teddy'—who she gestured to—'sat in on Quidditch practice yesterday.'

'Which _I_,' Teddy put in, 'wouldn't have allowed if it were _me_ having practice, but Cordelia was nice about it. Even if she made Al sit backwards so he couldn't see.'

'And I'm only hearing about this now, because...?'

Cordelia and Teddy both shrugged, and Victoire just smiled. This wasn't going quite as well—in his opinion—as James had expected it to. 'Well,' he said, 'if you three haven't properly met: Teddy and Victoire, this is Cordelia; Cordelia, this is my cousin Victoire and her fiancée-slash-the-older-brother-that-I-never-had Teddy.'

'It's good to finally meet you,' Teddy told Cordelia, and they shook hands across the counter. 'You know—"officially".'

'You, too.'

'You know, because both of us'—by this Teddy meant himself and Victoire—'have heard so much about you: James just won't shut up; Cordelia _this_, Cordelia _that_—_ow_! Sod off, Potter; you know it's true!'

'Well, _yeah_, but you don't have to _mention_ it!' snapped James, feeling very out of his depth.

Cordelia and Victoire both laughed, and then turned their attention to each other.

'So you're the gorgeous, perfect Victoire Weasley who I always hear so much about,' Cordelia said approvingly.

Victoire grinned. 'I don't know about gorgeous or perfect, but I'm definitely Victoire. And you are, without a doubt, the exceptionally talented Cordelia Gilbert. Dominique told us all about the vicious Quidditch Cup last year—definitely gave Gryffindor a run for our money, you did.'

Cordelia looked flattered and James took the opportunity to jump in and steer the conversation in a much more controllable direction. 'Good,' he said, 'so now we've all met each other and I've been significantly embarrassed: we'll be off.'

Cordelia bid farewell to Victoire and Teddy, and James thought they might just get out of the shop safely. But of course, he was wrong. Victoire called out: 'Cordelia, if you ever want to hear any embarrassing stories—'

'—or see any atrocious baby James pictures—' Teddy cut in.

'—then just give us a call!'

* * *

_**October 11**_

* * *

_Dear Rose,_

_ Even though your mum keeps pestering me to apologize, don't think I was forced into this or anything. I'm sorry for being a swot after finding out about you and that Malfoy kid. I mean_—_it can't have been entirely your fault! I'm just joking, don't worry. I've come to the decision that you've been punished enough (I can't imagine any of your cousins were very kind about the situation, especially considering the Quidditch Cup, and having every single person in the school know must have been pretty frightful), and I'm a bit sick of being angry, so it's worked out quite well._

_ Anyway, that's just me trying to say that I'm sorry for being an idiot if you're sorry for going out with Scorpius. And even if you're not_—_which just makes you barking_—_I'm still sorry. So yeah, that's about it._

_Love, Dad_

* * *

_**October 12**_

* * *

'I've just been thinking...'

Fred and Barbara were slaving over their Herbology work—extracting the most vital parts of the Bubotuber and trying not to get sprayed with pus, when she began to say what had been on her mind for a while. She tried not to sound like she was expecting anything as she continued.

'...and I don't want you to read anything into this, because I swear, I'm not trying to tell you anything...'

'Okay,' Fred agreed.

'Would it be a good thing or a bad thing if two people who had been friends for a really, really long time started to fancy each other?' Fred opened his mouth like he was going to say something but Barbara kept speaking before he had the chance to. 'Because, on one hand, it could be fantastic, and they could be together for ever and ever and fly off into the sunset or something like that—but on the other hand, it could be heinously impractical, because if it weren't to work out, then a fantastic friendship is ruined and it's all a massive shame, right?'

'Well, er—'

'—but no one would exactly want to say anything,' continued Barbara, dodging a jet of pus from the Bubotuber and slicing off a piece of the plant. 'Because if you said something and the other person didn't feel the same, then it would still ruin the friendship, because your feelings are only one-sided and then the whole demographic is ruined because there's one person feeling awkward and one person having admitted their feelings.'

'Er—'

'And furthermore,' Barbara insisted, '_not_ telling could make things even worse because then there's just a world of speculation—do they fancy me? Do they not?—and it ruins the friendship _that_ way because you're constantly second-guessing each other and nothing comes of it even though you could both be absolutely in love, correct?'

'Er—correct,' managed Fred, who looked as though he expected Barbara to continue on the tangent without getting a word in. 'It seems like this is something you've thought about a lot.'

'What makes you say that?' asked Barbara, sounding defensive even to herself.

'Well, the _lecture_, for one.'

'Oh,' she said, not quite understanding why this whole thing made him look so bothered. 'Sorry.'


	17. Peppermint Kisses

**Disclaimer:** I don't have anything to do with _Harry Potter_, unless you count squealing and writing fanfiction.

**AN:** The blog that I mentioned in this section of Chapter Sixteen (thethirdpottergeneration . tumblr . com) is where I've replied to your reviews, and will continue to do so the same way—if you'd like to talk to me more, then that would be the best way to do it! You don't have to have a tumblr account to send me a message, if that's the problem.

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

"**Peppermint Kisses"**

**Or**

"**Almost Everything's Messed Up Right Now; How Did This Happen?".**

* * *

_**October 13**_

* * *

With only two letters in their first names being different, many people would expect Lily and Lucy to be close; though no one expected how right they were. The girls, though not the dearest of friends or cousins when they were younger, had become the best of friends at Hogwarts. Though, as is common with friends, they were frightfully jealous of each other.

Lily, who was athletic and witty and had her mother's blazing look, often wished she were more like Lucy: top of the class, soft in appearance, though tough as nails when with her family. But Lucy saw the way boys looked at Lily, and that was all that mattered to her.

She thought it was ludicrous, particularly on the night of October 13th, that Lily was sitting on her four-poster with a little mirror in front of her, saying how desperate she was to "become attractive".

Lucy scoffed. 'Please, Lily,' she said. 'You're the prettiest, most sought-after girl in our year, and everyone knows it.'

Lily raised her perfectly-shaped eyebrows. 'I beg to differ. You,' she told Lucy, pointing a hairbrush at her cousin, 'are much better-looking than me. I'm stuck with this daft ginger hair'—at this, Lily held it up in bunches—'I tell you, it practically _screams_ Weasley.' Seeing Lucy's questioning expression, Lily amended: 'Not that there's anything _wrong_ with that—I'd just sometimes like to be "Lily" and not "Lily Potter" or "Lily: Ginny Weasley's daughter". You're so lucky you got Aunt Audrey's hair.'

Lucy surveyed her own hair. It was red, like Lily's, but noticeably darker; someone could look at it and call it brown, for the ginger in her hair was only a tint. Granted, this did spare her many an opportunity in shops or Diagon Alley to escape the questions of "oh, you're a Weasley!", "how is your father—Percy, yes?", and many other things that the other cousins could barely leave the house without being bombarded with interrogations about.

The other girls in the dormitory weren't paying much attention—Alana Harris, in the corner, was talking to her best friend very covertly about Hugo and how that front was progressing, but Lucy guessed they were trying to have this conversation without she or Lily knowing; they just weren't very good at hiding the squeals.

'Who do you think _is_ the prettiest of our cousins?' Lucy asked.

Lily tossed her hair back behind her shoulders and said matter-of-factly, 'Victoire or Dominique.'

'The prettiest without Veela blood.'

Lily shrugged. 'Perhaps Roxanne.'

Lucy decided this _was_ probably true; Roxanne had a tan whether it was blistering heat in summer or freezing cold. Her hair was the perfect mixture of brown and red—how Lucy's could have been, if the shade of brown had been more velvety. And Roxanne played Quidditch.

Boys _loved_ girls who played Quidditch.

Later in the night, after Alana's gossiping session had adjourned, the occupants of the fourth-year dormitory turned these questions into more of a general thing.

'Who do you think is the most gorgeous sixth-year Slytherin?'

'—Patricia—'

'—Venice—'

'—Scorpius—'

'—Ruby—'

'—_Scorpius_—'

'Lily, Scorpius isn't—'

'You didn't mention a gender,' said Lily, poking her tongue out at the others. 'Who's the prettiest Ravenclaw?'

'Of the sixth-years?'

'Yeah—sixth-year girls.'

Alana looked thoughtful. 'Bridget Davies is quite reasonable, though her brother was definitely the dish of the family.'

'Shelley Corner _would_ be, if she wasn't a total slut.'

'Did you _see_ her with Wilson—in Hogsmeade?' cried Alana.

Lucy raised her eyebrows. 'It was hard not to.'

'I don't know,' Lily said; her mind was still on the previously asked question, not particularly caring about the trials and tribulations of Shelley Corner's everyday affairs. 'Cordelia's pretty fit.'

'Yeah,' Alana said, sparing a thought, 'but you're just saying that because your brother's dating her.'

'What does my brother dating her have to do with her being fit?' Lily retorted. 'Unless you're commenting on his taste—'

Alana muttered something along the lines of: '—yeah, cause that's been so stellar in the past—' and both Weasley girls raised their eyebrows. 'Well,' said Lucy lightly, 'just a tip for you, Alana: if you're trying to have a healthy relationship with a bloke, don't talk rubbish about his family.'

* * *

_**October 14**_

* * *

James, Fred, and Molly assembled where Jess had told them to as their break from afternoon lessons began. Shortly after, just when they were beginning to question why it was she had asked them to meet up, Jess arrived.

'Why is it you've called together the second-coming of the Marauders, Thomas?' asked Fred grandiosely, using the girl's last name as a term of endearment. Jess raised her eyebrows and looked at him as though he had explained the whole purpose with the use of the word "Marauders".

'I've got a plan,' she said. 'It's more for something _Christmas_-related, but the magic is complex and it'll take a while.'

'I'm listening,' said James.

'I was thinking—last year for Christmas there was mistletoe everywhere, yeah?'

'Yeah.'

'Well, what if we took that a step further?'

Fred, Molly, and James leaned forward to get a better listen as Jess continued. 'What if, when someone walked under some of that mistletoe, the name of the person they most want to kiss is printed on their arm, and it won't go away until either they _get_ a kiss from that person, or the day comes to an end?'

The three Weasleys nodded. James, in particular, liked the idea, because it gave him yet another excuse to cosy on up with his girlfriend—and Molly was similar—but Fred looked a little worried, and James knew why. He hadn't been getting anywhere with Barbara, and felt as though he never would, because she seemed so against the idea.

'Do you know how to do this?' Molly asked. 'It seems like incredibly complex magic, as great of an idea as it may be.'

'It is,' Jess confirmed. 'That's why I wanted to tell you guys so early. It's a potion, really, that can be sprayed into the air around the mistletoe—when it's absorbed into the skin, the powerful attraction towards whoever it is they want to kiss, combined with their name, will make it appear on the inside of their left arm.'

At the look on their faces, Jess laughed. 'I know,' she said,' it's a little Death Eater-ish, but we're _kissing_, not _killing_. So there shouldn't be a problem.'

They looked around at each other.

Finally, James said: 'If you can do the magic, I'm in.'

Molly agreed to this, and, begrudgingly—with many exclamations of 'this'll come back to bite me in the arse, I just know it!'—Fred did, too.

* * *

_**October 15**_

* * *

Patricia Day awoke, on a cold Friday morning, approximately one hundred and twenty minutes before she needed to. A thought had been nagging at her for the precedent hours, even making its way into her sleep, and she had not been able to wipe it from her mind, no matter what therapy she called upon.

It wasn't _too_ cold inside the castle, because every fire was lit and smouldering, but being under the lake and therefore having no natural light in the Slytherin common room gave things a danker atmosphere.

None of her housemates were awake—it was four o'clock in the morning; she didn't blame them—so Patricia pulled her hair into a messy ponytail, and threw on some proper clothes, for then she at least looked reasonable if she came across anyone on her way to the closest Prefect's bathroom, which was one of only a few in the school, and which Patricia vastly preferred to the usual bathrooms in the dorms.

Given the time of the morning, she didn't really think anyone would be inside, and so she ignored the dim blue glow on the door—which usually signified warning that someone was inside—and muttered the password: 'Lavender.'

The door creaked open and there was a great splash from the bath ahead. Patricia was torn between wanting to look to check if the person making the splash was all right, but at the same time—it was a bath in which they had been splashing, and baths were usually taken _without_ clothing—so she kept her eyes averted.

'Sorry!' she called. 'I didn't think there would be anyone here!'

'No, no, it's okay. I was finished anyway.'

Patricia moved from the doorway hesitantly, hoping that it wasn't who she thought she had just ousted from the bath. But it was. Of _course_ it was, with her luck. He was standing there—shirtless, and athletically toned, in a surprisingly proper-looking pair of pants—shaking out his hair.

'Couldn't sleep either, could you?' asked Scorpius.

He didn't seem particularly bothered by his predicament, and her lack of put-togetherness; but then again, they had been friends for practically ever, so this was realistic.

'No need to sneak covert glances,' he said, standing tall and gesturing to himself. 'I _am_ incredibly irresistible.'

Patricia laughed, with a heat creeping up from her midriff that she hoped wasn't a blush. 'Don't flatter yourself.'

* * *

'What time did you get up, then?'

Scorpius was a few feet away, sitting, as Patricia was, on the edge of the massive bathtub. He was still shirtless—he seemed pretty nonchalant about it, if Patricia was completely honest—but it wasn't as though the room was cold. The steam from the bath made the air warm, despite it feeling a little bit thick, and due to the vast array of bubble soaps, it now smelled distinctly of peppermint.

'I don't know,' said Scorpius. 'Perhaps about three thirty. I had to finish the chart for Arithmancy, because I'd fallen asleep halfway through. Best of luck I _did_ wake up, though; otherwise I fear it wouldn't have been done at all.'

'Sorry I kept you up so late then.'

'No,' he responded, batting away her apology as though it meant little to him. 'It wasn't your fault. Bloody seventh-years seemed to be having a party of some sort—kept all of us up half the night. Anyway, what about you? Why did you wake up so early?'

Patricia wasn't sure if she should tell him about the feeling that had been nagging at her; and she_ certainly_ couldn't tell him about the dream she had had. There hadn't really been time to properly think about it up until this point, but sitting there with Scorpius in front of her—well, she didn't _want_ to tell him that the dream had been rather lustful, and she _certainly_ couldn't mention the fact it had been he she was lusting over—Patricia decided that it would benefit all to remain silent.

She settled with 'Not sure. I just woke up and couldn't go back to sleep—again; sorry for disturbing the whole'—she gestured around the room, to the bath in front of her, and then to Scorpius—'bath thing.'

'Really,' reassured Scorpius, 'it's _fine_.'

'Are you sure?' Patricia asked once again. She couldn't express how incredibly awful she felt—and how awkward; _definitely_ how awkward.

Scorpius scooted over to sit beside her, their shoulders grazing against one another. She dared to sneak a sidelong glance, and as she did so, catching his eyes where they were fixed on her. A small smile played over his lips, which Patricia really hadn't been planning to be caught looking at (but then again, with Scorpius, Patricia never really planned anything—unless you counted the "let's get married at twenty-five, if you're still pretty much dateless".)

She was suddenly aware of how close they were, how alone they were, how shirtless _he_ was, and she almost fell forwards into the bath. Scorpius's lips parted, and he was leaning in against her, and she was leaning into him as well and—

'_Ooh_!' came a shrill voice. 'What's going on here?'

Patricia and Scorpius sprang apart and watched in horror as Moaning Myrtle left the sill of the painted glass window to hover in front of them both. She was giggling, and her ghostly cheeks were a dark shade of grey.

'How rude of you,' she said. 'Not going to say hello to little old me.'

'Myrtle...' Scorpius began, 'I thought you only haunted—I mean—_lived_ in the girl's bathroom on the—'

'—you're always the same, aren't you?' Myrtle interrupted, looking disdainfully down at her translucent hands as if inspecting the nails. 'Just because I spend most of my time in the girl's lavatory, doesn't mean it's the only place I can go in this castle—but of course _you_ wouldn't know that, would you?' Her manner changed into the sobbing, screeching Myrtle they were more used to. 'No! Definitely not! Because nobody cares about miserable, melancholy, mournful Moaning _Myrtle_!'

She gave a great sob and passed above them to zoom into one of the empty toilet cubicles. With a splash, she found her place in the pipes and Patricia and Scorpius were left embarrassed and silent.

* * *

'You didn't talk to him for all of lunch,' said Cordelia. 'I noticed.'

'Is this why you brought _me_ to the library instead of one of your Ravenclaw mates? To interrogate me?'

Cordelia ignored her, placing a book back on the shelf when it became clear it was not the one she wanted. 'I'm just saying. There has to be something going on—you two are practically inseparable; and now it's like you're dead against each other.'

Patricia sighed. 'Fine. Something did happen,' she admitted. Looking dejected, she slumped against the bookshelf and crossed her arms.

'Are you going to tell me, then? Because you know that if you don't, I'm going to expect it's something that it isn't and get all riled up.'

'I don't know,' Patricia groaned, following Cordelia through the aisles of books to sit down, finally, at a desk safely away from prying eyes. 'It all started this morning,' she said. 'I couldn't sleep, so I decided I'd make a proper trip to the Prefect's bathroom and have a wash there instead—because, you know, it's much nicer. So when I arrived, I opened the door and Scorpius was already—'

'Oh, Merlin!' cried Cordelia. She quickly quieted herself before Madam Pince could zip over and give her a telling off. Surveying the room to make sure the library had not heard, she turned back to Patricia, looking scandalized. 'You didn't see—'

'—God—Merlin—no!'

'—Okay,' said Cordelia, exhaling in relief. 'Good, because you had me worried there for a second. Go on.'

'He was already half-dressed by that point anyway, so... you know... you don't have to get stewed up—okay, so we chatted for a while, just as you do, and er...'

'"Er..."?'

Patricia looked down at her hands, which were rested on the desk in front of her, fingers tangled together like knots. 'We almost kissed.'

'What?' Cordelia exclaimed, throwing a book in front of her and pretending to read as Madam Pince walked past trying to find the causer of the ruckus. Patricia admired how quickly she'd managed to do it.

As soon as Madam Pince was out of earshot, Cordelia leaned forward and shout-whispered, 'what?'

'What what?'

'What stopped you?'

Patricia rolled her eyes. 'Bloody Moaning Myrtle showed up.'

Cordelia looked annoyed. 'Trust Myrtle,' she muttered bitterly. 'But you did _want_ to kiss him, though? Sorry,' she added at Patricia's nod, 'I just have a hard time keeping up with which one of you fancies each other more, so...'

With a quizzical expression on her face, Patricia enquired, 'what's that supposed to mean—"which one of us fancies each other more"? I don't really think Scorpius—'

'—and you call _me_ oblivious?' Cordelia sighed. '_Both_ of you went in for the kiss, right?'

Slowly, Patricia nodded.

'Exactly. He wouldn't do that if he didn't fancy you,' said Cordelia matter-of-factly. 'I thought it was obvious, myself.'

* * *

_**October 16**_

* * *

The three seventh-year occupants of the Gryffindor girls' dormitory—technically, Barbara was a room at the top of the stairs, being Head Girl, so she didn't stake much claim to being part of the "dormitories"—were sitting on their large four-poster beds when a knock came from the door.

'Come in!' Molly called, sitting up and finding a stray piece of parchment to mark the page she was reading of _Magic's Advanced Theories_ as Barbara entered the room.

'The Queen's decided to come among us commoners, then,' said Jess, sliding off her bed and sinking into a deep bow.

Elena Finnigan, who was nursing a swollen lip from a Potions assignment gone wrong, said nothing. The Head Girl was still standing in the doorway, one hand on the knob and the other on the frame. She looked a little anxious.

'Can I talk to you guys about something?' she asked.

'Anything,' replied Molly. She scooted over so Barbara could take a seat beside her.

'So, recently, a few people have been saying that Fred fancies me—'

'—I remember the phrase being "Fred's in love with you",' Molly cut in, 'but go on.'

'Yeah, so... anyway... a few people have said that recently—and I'm not here to ask for a reason, because that sounds all kinds of mental—and I've just been thinking... I don't know if I fancy—'

'—"love"—'

'—shut up, Molly! I don't know if I fancy him back.'

Jess's eyebrows knit together, and she set down the packet of sweets her father had sent her, saying: 'Well, why not?'

'Usually,' said Barbara, 'I would say it's because there's no chance of him feeling the same way about me, and therefore I'm just escaping rejection, but given what you lot have been saying, I'm not so sure.' She sighed and knew she was being ridiculous. 'I really, _really_ like Fred.'

Molly asked: 'As more than a friend?'

Barbara replied: 'As more than a friend. _But_,' she added quickly, when the others looked at risk of being mental, 'I—'

'—Why's there always got to be a "but"?'

'—I don't want to risk anything until I'm absolutely sure that it's worth it!' Barbara said this very loudly and very aggressively, so to hopefully have more attention paid to what she was saying, instead of a million side comments being made. Molly rolled her eyes and refused to pay any attention; she picked at a few stray threads on her bedcovers, waiting for the others to do something. Jess, who by this time had a mouth full of sweets, stopped mid-chew, but said nothing. It was Elena, who probably shouldn't have been talking at all, who spoke.

It was more of an angry outburst, actually.

'Make sure it's "worth it"?' she cried, 'What in the hell is that supposed to mean? A bloke who you've been mates with forever fancies you like mad—might even be in love with you, or so his cousins say—and you're sitting about, worrying if it's going to be "_worth it_"?'

Elena threw her hands up in surrender, and said no more to the rest of them. She spent the rest of the evening muttering frustrated phrases to herself, and the Head Girl spent the rest of the evening wondering if she was right.

* * *

_**October 17**_

* * *

Jenna was possibly the rudest person Andy had ever met. She truly wondered how she got herself into such a mess that God—or whatever supreme, primal being there may have been—thought she needed the additional stress of a loudmouthed younger sister. Throughout childhood, everything had been difficult: she'd had to share toys, go to Paris for so-and-so's birthday—but it wasn't the sharing, and it certainly wasn't the trips to France, that made Andy so annoyed. It was the constantly having to police her sister. Make sure she didn't do anything to embarrass herself too badly.

Or, more importantly, embarrass Andy.

But, even with all of this going on, Andy still loved her sister. It sounded awfully sentimental, even to her ears, but it was the sort of thing that one had to remind oneself of when in circumstances that make orchestrating the murder of a younger sister. She was muttering it to herself now as she watched Jenna cross the entrance hall and take up conversation with Lily Potter, who previously she wouldn't have even thought to say a second word to.

Pretending to walk past quite nonchalantly, Andy grasped that they were talking about the previous Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match; Jenna congratulating Lily on her team's success. She was stressing the negativity of losing Wood so early in, and how talented the team must have been to stop so many scores. If it sounded transparent to Andy, Lily probably thought she was being ridiculed.

'Oh, sister mine!' Jenna called, bounding up to Andy after adjourning the conversation between herself and Lily Potter. She laced an arm around Andy's shoulders and the sixth-year promptly shrugged it off.

'What?' asked Andy, in a tone equivalent to grogginess.

'You know how I was just talking to Lily over there?'

Andy, continuing with her lethargic tone, said sarcastically, 'No, I didn't notice at all. Your subtlety is head and shoulders among the rest.'

Jenna waved a hand at Andy as if she was displeased but at the same time regarded nothing her sister had said of any importance. 'Shut up,' she said. '_Anyway_, so Lily and I got talking, and I couldn't help but mention _you_ and the fact you're my sister, and "oh, isn't your brother in the same year"?'

'You didn't.' Andy was alarmed; how could such a small conversation have been comprised of such a dark topic?

'I _did_, actually. And Lily said you two—meaning, of course, you and that dishy Albus who you _insist_ you feel nothing for!—were friends! She said you were friends! Isn't that the best thing you've heard all day?'

'Gee,' said Andy, 'if you wanted to have your mind blown like that, you could have come to me and I'd have told you the same thing much faster. I could have even done a little dance routine.'

'Don't have such a hissy fit,' Jenna chided. 'Ooh!' she said in a girlish voice, looking behind her sister. 'Look who's on his way down the stairs!'

Surely enough, when Andy turned to see who it was causing such a fuss, Albus was making his way down the stairs, speaking rapidly to Cordelia. As they passed by Andy and Jenna, Albus said, 'hey, Andy,' and Cordelia—who was on his other side—waved quickly and grinned.

Jenna positively squealed when Andy replied, 'hey, Al. Hi, Cordelia. Oh, it's just a "hello", you idiot!' she snapped once they had passed, slapping Jenna's flailing arms back down to her sides where they belonged.

* * *

Albus and Patricia had made a habit of sitting together in Muggle Studies. She had told him all about what happened with Scorpius, and he in return confided how excruciatingly difficult it was to try and get over someone you see every day. They had become quite good friends, which was news that neither his family nor the Slytherins had been notified of at this point. James probably would have called him a filthy traitor, but Al knew he'd go back on his word after about five minutes anyway: not only was James a loyal brother, but he was also as fickle as anyone could ever hope to be.

'Look,' Albus advised, that Sunday when she approached him. 'You two'—meaning Patricia and Scorpius—'have been mates since before wizards populated Britain. How long have you fancied him?'

'A while.'

'Then I guess he's fancied you for just as long.'

There was a moment of silence before Al looked disgusted. 'Listen to me: I sound like a tosspot! This isn't one of those icky, ridiculous over-clichéd romance novels—but you two almost kissed. That means you both wanted to. I don't suppose he did it to be polite!'

'No, I don't think so.'

'Then you've got nothing to worry about.'

And that, Patricia supposed, was that.


	18. Dark Thoughts and Darker Alternatives

**Disclaimer:** I do not reserve any rights to _Harry Potter_; like Shelley Corner to his sons.

**AN:** I would like to thank Ed Sheeran for his music, without which I wouldn't have had the motivation of a fast-paced Englishman's words, and this chapter would have taken much longer.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

"**Dark Thoughts and Darker Alternatives"**

**Or**

"**Greener Pastures".**

* * *

_**October 18**_

* * *

Cordelia Gilbert was confused. In all her life, she had never come across quite a conundrum as this. Granted, her life up until this point had been rather pleasant indeed, but with what she knew about problems, politeness, and other people—this problem seemed like a real one.

On top of the fact that her roommates refused to speak to one another, and—though this was not problematic in any way, shape, or form—her relationship with James had managed to survive two weeks, there was something that deeply displeased her.

No. That was a blatant lie. There were multiple things that upset her at the moment. The first in the series—which she never seemed to have time to think about in full—was this:

The approaching weekend brought with it, not a Hogsmeade visit, but a Quidditch match. Ravenclaw had been practicing almost every night in order to be prepared, however this gave the young captain no peace of mind. Miles Clarke—who was broad in the shoulders and brooding in the stature—was undoubtedly working just as hard and just as ruthlessly to prepare his team for the match; one in which he had the upper hand, simply by being male.

Cordelia hated to admit inferiority in any way, especially not in relation to any specific gender, but no one on her team was nearly as large as Miles Clarke, nor did they compare to the team he had assembled. Usually, this would have given her an advantage; for Quidditch was a sport anchored on agility, but even this could not keep Cordelia from losing out on optimism.

Sitting in the Ravenclaw common room, alone but not by any circumstances _lonely_, Cordelia tried to clear her thoughts. This didn't prove possible, however, for not a moment had passed when Will Bowen, the Ravenclaw Keeper, approached. For some reason, he looked surly.

'I was wondering if I could have a word?'

Cordelia vacated room for him on the couch. 'Of course,' she said. 'What seems to be the problem?'

'How'd you know there had to be a problem?' asked Will, sitting down and looking a tiny bit red.

'You just looked a bit worried, is all.'

'Oh. Well, I suppose there _is_ a problem.'

Cordelia scooted around a little bit in order to get a better look at her companion. There was definitely a faint trace of something anxious in the air. 'And what _is_ this dire problem?'

Will looked a little green. 'It's not so much a problem that you can really fix, but—er—I just wanted to ask you something.'

Bracing herself for the possibility of something potentially uncomfortable, Cordelia told him to go ahead.

'It's kind of... well, it's _about_ somebody. Er—and to put this out there, I just want you to know that I'm coming to you because you're basically the most well-rounded, put-together person who speaks to me, so—er—I kind of... need some advice.'

* * *

Nothing compared to the feeling of having absolutely no work to do. Except perhaps, Barbara thought, the blank, lazy hours between night time and morning where nothing meant anything and there was no concern about the thoughts you had, or the thoughts you didn't. It was one such hour now; having finished her Astronomy assignment and now just sitting at the edge of her room all alone. The dormitory had been quite for a while, which meant that the watch that she had got for turning seventeen the previous year was still adequate: her fellow Gryffindors had been asleep a while.

Mondays were usually full of stress or lethargy, set forth by either intense over-working or James's Quidditch practices—these two things were, most of the time, one in the same. But now, with the day drawing to a close, Barbara felt calm. It was a strange, dull kind of calm; the world beyond the window out of which she was now gazing seemed muted, unreal. Like the slowest of dreams, except now she was not flying at great heights or travelling to far-off lands where everything was strange and exotic.

She was just sitting in her dormitory, filled with a sense of serenity.

But for a person whose attitude was so relaxed, Barbara's mind was not. It was, if possible, overflowing with every idea, every hope, every worry—the latter of which occurs predominantly at night, as anyone who suffers even the slightest of insomnia can identify—that she had ever thought to experience.

There was Quidditch, her studies, the rules and regulations that—as Head Girl—were Barbara's to uphold, the fact that her sister still hadn't written even though she had promised she would...

And of course, there was Fred.

It was almost annoying now, how he plagued her thoughts. Seeing him every day didn't help. The fact that no one would shut up about it wasn't exactly offering assistance, either; she was so tired of hearing things from everyone _but_ Fred that she would surely whip out her wand and hex the next person who tried to reason with her. She cared for him; this fact was indisputable. _But_ Fred had never been afraid of saying anything that crossed his mind.

Why should this time be any different?

And though this problem was quite miniscule in the grand scheme of the universe, it haunted Barbara until she finally fell asleep.

* * *

_**October 19**_

* * *

October 19 started slowly for Rose Weasley. In her endeavours to be nice and in trying to do what she could to repair her reputation; sometimes things were going as she hoped—hell, her father had forgiven her; that was a feat in itself—but other times... she was getting the opposite reaction.

Like now, as she walked to Charms, Devon Henry was approaching her. He was sallow and spiky-looking, as he always was, but now he was leering, too. And she was alone.

What a fantastic, lucky combination.

'Weasley...' said Henry.

'Henry...' said Weasley.

'So,' the boy said, stepping in front of her and blocking her way, 'I heard about what you did with Malfoy.'

'Yes,' Rose snapped tersely. 'I think _everyone_ has.'

Devon bit his lip, obviously in an effort to look seductive. 'Pity, that. I mean, I don't believe the _rumours_, of course—'

'—_what_ rumours, Henry?' Rose snapped. He was most likely trying to rile her up, but being a girl, if things were being said about her, Rose thought it was in her best interest to know the nature of what was being said.

'Oh, it's best you didn't know, really. If you haven't heard already, what's the point of making everything worse, right? Weasley—_Rose_—let go of me! I didn't mean to, like... _actually_, this was easier than I'd thought. I wasn't sure if you'd be as into it as you are, but obviously...'

'_Merlin_!' Rose cried in disgust, throwing Henry away from her as he tried to get his hands around her. She had grabbed his collar in a way that was _supposed_ to be threatening, but she had obviously failed. 'What the hell are you trying to —?'

'Henry,' came a clipped voice from behind them. Upon closer inspection, it proved to be Will Bowen, who Rose knew as the Keeper of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Devon looked nervous, but backed away from Rose as Will suggested, 'Just give her a break, yeah?'

'O—of course. Bowen. Yes. I'll be on my way.'

And with that, the ferrety Devon Henry scarpered off as fast as his legs would carry him.

While Rose was rather occupied with her thoughts, and the fact that a person she had probably never said two words to had just helped her out of a less than favourable situation, the Ravenclaw in question did not seem to be. He began to dawdle off in the opposite direction, without even waiting for a "thanks". Looking back, Rose probably should have just left it, because it _did _make both of them late for their next lessons, and she would have rather liked not having to lie to Professor Flitwick about being in the library getting ahead in their lessons and researching advanced N.E.W.T. Charms, but this was not how Rose's brain was working at the time and she did decide to go after Will Bowen and make sure he got the gratitude he deserved.

'Bowen!' she called, just as he rounded the corner. A moment later, Will re-emerged, looking surprised. Rose hurried over to him. 'I just wanted to say thank you. You know—for that.'

Will smiled. 'I'm pretty sure you could have handled it yourself. You seem able enough.'

'Please don't be modest,' said Rose. 'Henry's a creep, and I was almost shot of him, but I don't know how hard that would have been if you hadn't shown up. So even if I might have had it handled: thank you, because there was always the off-chance that I didn't.'

'Well, in that case,' Will settled, 'you're welcome.'

* * *

'Are they still not speaking to each other?' James asked disdainfully. Albus followed his gaze across the Great Hall, and found Scorpius and Patricia at the Slytherin table, sitting ten feet apart and seeming rather steadfast in looking in the opposite direction from one another; for the past few days they had been communicating in nothing but covert stares and awkward smiles. Surprised that his brother had finally noticed someone other than himself, Albus replied, 'No, they're not.'

'If that were me,' James told him, brandishing his fork so passionately that the piece of potato it was holding flew off and hit some poor first-year Ravenclaw a table over, 'I wouldn't waste time being embarrassed. I'd accept what had happened and just go up to whoever it was and give them the best bloody snog of their life.'

Albus, who in that moment was very grateful that James had no power over the decision-making processes of neither Scorpius nor Patricia's brains, occupied himself with his dinner and said nothing.

'Looking forward to the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff game this weekend, James?' asked Roxanne, who leaned over the parsnips to look cheekily at her cousin.

James rolled his eyes. 'It's a done deal,' he said matter-of-factly, 'Ravenclaw's got ten times the strategy of Hufflepuff's whole team in one player.'

'Which one?'

'Who's the youngest player?' James asked, finally taking the time to recover another piece of potato from his plate to replace the one he had hit the Ravenclaw with.

'Gabby Sterling,' said Roxanne. 'Third year.'

James pointed the fork, which was now free of potato, at Roxanne. 'Exactly. Gabby Sterling could light up the whole world with pure brainpower before any of Clarke's team even found out how to work a matchstick.'

'What _I_ don't understand,' Albus put in, 'is how you're so damn sure Cordelia's team has the greatest line-up since the Holyhead Harpies took the Cup a few years back, and yet you still expect us to beat them when we play.'

James gave Albus a look that was both nonchalant and belittling. '_Please_,' he said, 'no one can beat _Perfection_.'

And with that, Albus's theory was confirmed: he had, if possible, the most insanely self-assured brother on the planet.

* * *

'I don't understand,' began Venice Higgs, that night in the Slytherin dormitory, 'why you two won't speak. You almost _kissed_; if it weren't for Moaning _bloody_ Myrtle you would have—if that's not telling someone you fancy them, then I don't know what is.'

Ruby Zabini, whose brother was a Prefect in the year above, groaned from her far-off four-poster bed. 'Give the bird a break, Venice. She's had enough of everyone's lectures, hasn't she?'

Venice suggested that it was _Ruby_ who was sick of "everyone's lectures"; that Patricia was only looking for advice, and then turned back to Ms. Day and continued. 'I play Quidditch with the bloke; he's a _mess_. And blokes _don't_ become messes unless they really care about a girl.'

'Is that why you broke up with What's-His-Name?' Ruby asked, lying on her stomach at the end of her four-poster bed. She looked at Patricia and snapped her fingers. 'What _was_ his name—McAvoy? Macdonald? Michaels?'

'McCormick,' Patricia supplied. She took her hairbrush and began combing through her hair: she had spoken with Scorpius about the dodgy flying of the two Chasers—McCormick and Venice—after their break-up, and what a bad affect it was having on the team. Of course, being Venice Higgs's roommate made Patricia responsible for listening to rants on any topic; and Venice was the sort of person who liked to rant a lot.

'Yeah!' Ruby exclaimed. 'McCormick! Was that why you broke up with McCormick—because he wasn't positively _traumatised_ when you almost fell off your broom at Quidditch practice?'

Venice glared. 'For your _information_: no. That is not why I broke up with him. But my relationships aren't the issue right now'—at this point Ruby made a comment about how Venice had a way of making sure her relationships were _always_ the issue, but she was ignored—'the issue is Patricia and Scorpius and how stupid and immature they're being!'

Patricia, who had felt quite out of place ever since Venice began giving advice, thought it was probably as good a time as any to speak up.

'I don't really think it's immature, myself,' she said. 'Everyone's telling me to just front up to him and admit what happened and move on from there, but... I don't know. As much as I'd like to—as much as I'd _like_ to kiss him and tell him how much I care... I can't shake the thought of _her_.'

Venice and Ruby looked up; they were for once united in something, even if it was confusion. 'Who?'

'_Her_,' Patricia repeated pointedly. 'Rose.' She ignored their looks and continued, 'Like it or not, they went out—'

'—and even if they didn't; they _made_ out—'

Venice hit Ruby and motioned for Patricia to go on. The Prefect sighed, setting down her hairbrush and trying with much difficulty to put thoughts into words.

'I don't know, I just don't feel right. I don't like Rose—you guys _know_ I don't like Rose—and every time I think about kissing Scorpius, all I can think of is that those same lips have kissed _hers_. They kissed hers before they ever kissed mine... but I don't know; just add that to the list of things that Rose Weasley has over me.'

* * *

_**October 20**_

* * *

It was late. Everyone had been sent to bed, and with the exception of James Potter and Fred Weasley, everyone had complied. However, Molly Weasley decided to pay a visit to her dear friend Barbara, who she could hear humming Celestina Warbeck's _Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love_ out of unwitting habit (when a person visits the Burrow at Christmas, such things are ingrained in their mind) if she opened the dormitory door wide enough.

Molly made her way up the extended stairwell and came to a stop in front of Barbara's door, which hung slightly ajar. There was light streaking out of it, but the opening wasn't wide enough to see what Barbara was doing inside, which made Molly think it was best to knock.

'It's just me,' she said, rapping her knuckles on the mahogany door a couple of times before the Head Girl opened it in front of her.

'Hi.'

'Hi,' Molly echoed. 'Mind if I come in?'

'No, no; of course not.' Barbara opened the door and allowed her passage.

Making herself at home, Molly flung herself down on the puffy red duvet that covered Barbara's bed. The whole room seemed to give out a pinkish, warm glow: not the kind that reminded you of a sickeningly sweet old Aunt, but gave the room just a girlish, homey touch. Barbara closed the door and faced her friend. 'So,' she said, by way of instigating conversation, 'what brings you to this neck of the woods—and at such a late hour? I trust it's not Potions homework.'

Molly shook her head. 'Besides, it's only ten o'clock. Not _nearly_ bedtime. And I wanted to talk to you about something.'

'_Please _don't be another lecture on—'

'—on what?' Molly interrupted. 'On Fred? Well, Barbara, I'm sorry, but you're in for a bit of a disappointment.'

The Head Girl sighed and sat down on the end of the bed, facing the opposite wall. Molly scrunched up and scooted over to sit properly beside her. 'But in case you're annoyed, I just want to tell you I'm not here to insist he's in love with you or anything like that; so don't give me that look.'

'Then what _are_ you here for, pray tell?'

Molly exhaled. 'If you want to know Fred, and I mean _really_, _really_ know him, you've got to understand something about his family.' At Barbara's questioning expression, she said, 'Not his family like his _cousins_; I mean his parents, his uncles, aunts, grandparents... _that_ kind of family.'

Barbara nodded to show Molly she could continue. She did so, promptly.

'Growing up after the war was difficult—for _everyone_. There wasn't a witch or wizard in Britain who hadn't lost someone to Voldemort. Our family was no exception.' Molly turned to Barbara and asked, 'Do you know why Fred's "Fred Weasley the Second"?'

Barbara, who now understood the mood was sombre, nodded. 'His uncle who died in the war.'

'Exactly,' said Molly, no cheerfulness in her tone. 'Now, this uncle... he wasn't just any other brother to Fred's dad. They were twins. Inseparable since birth, sometimes so much that even their own mother couldn't tell them apart. They joked, laughed... they did everything together. And on the night of the Battle of Hogwarts, they fought together, too. Now, at one point, they got separated. Uncle George was fighting one wizard, Uncle Fred another, until Fred got so far away that they couldn't see each other anymore. Fred was with my dad, and at some point they were joined by my Uncle Harry, my Aunt Hermione, and Uncle Ron: the youngest Weasley brother.'

She paused a moment, let out a breath, and kept going. 'Then there was an explosion. A whole wall split apart. The others were fine, but Uncle Fred... Uncle Fred wasn't. The explosion had thrown huge pieces of debris everywhere, there were curses blasting this way and that... and either by marble or by magic: Uncle Fred was killed.'

This wasn't the end of the story, and thankfully Barbara didn't try to say anything. She patiently let Molly go on.

'Uncle George's best friend, his twin brother—practically half of _him_—was gone forever. Naturally, things were never the same. Fred was born years later, and given his name for the irreplaceable brother who had been stolen by death. He had the same ginger hair, same brown eyes... the only difference was his skin, and that wasn't by too much. Naturally, things were difficult—growing up with this name and this face that was so close to someone lost. It hurt Uncle George to even _look_ at his son. Quite a few times, even when Fred was little—and sometimes when he got a bit older—it hurt too much. And Uncle George... well, Uncle George tried to kill himself.'

Barbara gasped in a short intake of breath, but the story still wasn't finished.

'My dad did, too. He hadn't been speaking to his family for years, see; and he hadn't even been back a _day_ before Uncle Fred died. Dad was so close to where it happened—he was there, not five feet away—and... and Dad always thought it should have been him. He cried every night when I was little; no one thinks I remember, but I do. And I think Fred does as well.'

Aware of the tears splashing their way down her cheeks, Molly battled on to finish what she had to say.

'If my dad was only a brother, I can't imagine what it was like for his twin. And for Fred; having to grow up, the spitting image of a part of his father that had been taken; having a parent that couldn't even bear to look him in the face most days—he probably even knew about the failed attempts at suicide. Imagine what it was like for a child having to grow up with that. And sure,' she amended a moment later, 'sometimes things were great, but Uncle George was never quite whole. Never. For James, being like his father and his grandfather... that's a personal goal; it's something he takes pride in. But for Fred... I think Fred does it to try and make his father... even for a little while... feel all right again.'

* * *

_**October 21**_

* * *

'Well, I'll be damned. Shelley Corner _has_ gone loopy.'

Andy hurried down the staircase behind Lorcan and Lysander Scamander. All three of them cursed as it moved to the side and threw them completely off-course. They were following their classmates down to the Entrance Hall, where it was rumoured Shelley Corner had started another duel. Every time one of these events ensued, the participants of the aforementioned altercation seemed to drop in intelligence. Eager to see who the two idiot partakers were this time, Andy nudged a Slytherin hard in the side.

Scorpius Malfoy cursed. 'For Merlin's sake, can't you at least—'

'I don't think you should lecture _me_, about Merlin, Malfoy,' the Hufflepuff advised. 'Now, I'm sorry for hitting you, but if what I think happened with you and Day _did_, then I'd just like to tell you to grow a pair and do something about it.'

Suddenly uncomfortable, Scorpius changed the subject. 'Don't you want to see which two sods are fighting over her now?' he asked, gesturing to the momentarily free path in front of them.

'No,' said Andy matter-of-factly, 'I do not. I want to make sure you march right up to Patricia right now and tell her how you really feel.'

'If you, the bloody Emperor of Dessert-Consuming, know about what happened, then who else does?' Scorpius demanded.

Andy put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. '_First_,' she said, 'it's "Empress". Second, don't be such an arse, I was just trying to help. And _third_, there-she-is-so-I-suggest-you-be-quick-about-it.'

Spluttering, Scorpius was pushed in the general direction of Patricia and her friends. He almost crashed into Lily Potter but quickly sidestepped and instead bowled over Evan Cadwallader—but really, how much of a loss was that? With Andy muttering an apology behind him, she wheeled the Slytherin Seeker over to the brunette he had almost kissed, and her friends who had seen him approaching and looked almost dizzy. Against her will, they whirled Patricia around and pushed her into Scorpius.

It was awfully juvenile behaviour, and they collided with the awkward forehead slamming into a chin, and Scorpius slightly rumpled hair getting even more unkempt, before the boy set Patricia back with his arms and coughed uncomfortably.

'Look, I...'

'I know,' said Patricia.

Her lustful face at that moment seemed to take on a new beauty, and as she took Scorpius hand and pulled him through the crowd—most likely off to some secluded corner of the castle where they could "rekindle their friendship"—Andy and the Slytherin girls who Patricia had been hanging around with looked at one another.

'I didn't know you and Scorpius were mates,' Venice said distastefully.

'Oh, I assure you, we're not.'

'Want to go and check out who's losing the battle for the slut?' Ruby asked brightly, to which they both agreed.


	19. A Cumbersome Myriad

**Disclaimer:** Well, if you've got this far, I'm pretty sure you know I'm not J.K. Rowling. (Or perhaps I am. I wouldn't tell you if I was.)

**AN: **I love James Potter and late-night reviews.

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

"**A Cumbersome Myriad"**

**Or**

"**That One Sunday When James Wouldn't Stop Making Up Nicknames".**

* * *

_**October 22**_

* * *

Quentin Embry was in the hospital wing. He had two swollen toenails, three broken ribs, and a large indigo bruise that obscured his right eye.

And now, thanks to Madam Pomfrey, he had breakfast.

In a way, it had always been obvious to him that Shelley Corner wanted nothing but a good snog, two compliments, and the satisfaction of taking a bloke down a notch without having to lift a finger. Perhaps two notches, in his case. Quentin pondered this idea as he bit into the first piece of toast in front of him. It certainly hadn't been Madam Pomfrey who prepared it, because the old woman looked like the sort of Healer who put too much jam on a slice of toast; Quentin's grandmother did this frequently.

The up-side of being in one of the many duels over Shelley Corner's bodily functions was that one bloke was always injured enough that he had to stay in the hospital wing and miss lessons until his body mended. Thankfully, this time it had been Quentin. Not that there wouldn't be a mountain of homework to catch up on when he got out of the comfortable bubble of his hospital bed, but at least he would be well-rested.

Well, that was if Connor Wilson didn't show up and finish the job.

Quentin had to hand it to him; the sixth-year knew how to use a wand. He certainly wouldn't be recovering from this quickly. But if the up-side of _losing_ a duel for Shelley Corner was getting lessons off to mend; the up-side of _winning_ left the lucky (or perhaps, not so lucky) gentleman with swollen red lips and a significantly less tasteful reputation.

'Embry!'

The way Fred Weasley called out his name made it three times as long. The boy's head poked out from behind a nearby curtain and he, joined by the others in their dormitory: Potter, Wood, and Felix, leapt out and bounded over to their housemate on bed rest.

'Shouldn't you lot be in lessons?'

Fred checked his watch. 'Nah, mate. It's only seven thirty.'

'Then the Great Hall, rather,' Quentin amended.

Felix shook his head. 'We figured that you'd have food,' he said.

'So if we got hungry,' put in Wood.

'We could just mooch off of you!' James finished, setting himself down in one of the bedside chairs and putting his feet in Felix's lap, who patted them as though they were a kitten.

Quentin looked down at his tray of food, the amount of food on which was scarce. The boys around him seemed to notice this, too, for they frowned. Lifting his feet from their short-lived residence on Felix's lap, James stood. 'Well,' he said with finality, 'I guess that's it from us.'

And then they all turned to leave.

'Oi!' Quentin called after them. 'No "hope you're well", "get better soon"?'

Wood looked back over his shoulder. 'You lost all forms of sympathy when you got in a duel over _Shelley Corner_.'

* * *

'Please tell me you two went and had a right steamy snog!'

Patricia ignored Venice, instead moving down the rows of books in search of the one she needed. The search was stupid: Cordelia probably had the book anyway, what with her extensive ownership of any kind of literary work, but it gave Patricia something to do instead of answering all of Venice's hundreds of questions, so she continued to search.

'I recall some snogging, yes,' she answered vaguely.

Venice pounced upon this information, her eyes wide and excited. She probably expected every intimate detail, knowing Venice. 'Did my tips on snogging him so viciously that you wiped all record of Rose Weasley completely from him work, then?'

Patricia rolled her eyes. She and her companion reached the entire of the aisle, and for the sake of it, Patricia pulled a book from the shelf. It was _Lost Magick of Olde_ by Salidanius Bibble; behind it in the empty space was the back of some girl's head as she and her boyfriend kissed passionately in the aisle behind. Disgusted, Patricia slotted the book back into place with more force than necessary, almost tearing out her nail-beds in the process.

'Can we please talk about something that isn't snogging, or Scorpius—or snogging Scorpius,' she added pointedly, throwing Venice a wary look.

'Why—_did_ you finally?'

The response came from behind them, and it was Albus. He had two books in hand: both looking very complex and probably having something to do with Arithmancy; and he wrapped an arm around Patricia's shoulders in a quick squeeze of congratulations. Patricia nodded and explained exactly what had happened, how she had thought about it and when pestered into speaking to Scorpius instead dragged him to the common room and snogged him against a bookshelf with more force than even she thought possible. By the end, they were both laughing; Venice looking on as though her friend had just sprouted four more sets of ears and set off to live on Neptune.

Patricia raised an eyebrow.

'You two are _mates_?' asked Venice judgmentally.

Albus's eyebrows now rose. 'Don't sound so disappointed, Higgs.'

'I can have inter-house friendships when I want to,' said Patricia. 'I'm not _that_ socially inept.'

Venice smiled, but it looked like it hurt her. 'Of course. I'm sorry. I just need to go; I've got Divination.' She turned on her heel and hightailed it out of the library, looking more and more pleased for an excuse to leave as she did so.

Patricia's attention returned to Albus, who looked almost like he was going to laugh. She punched him in the arm, though admittedly she was considering doing the same thing. 'So, Mr. Gryffindor Chaser, how are things with Cordelia going?'

'Er—we're good mates, as close as ever...'

'That's not what I mean and you know it.'

Crumbling under the pressure, Albus said delicately, 'there's nothing to say because there _are_ no "things" going on, and I've got to accept that that'll never be the case, no matter how much I fancy her.'

There were footsteps behind Patricia, the owner of whom came to a stop at her back and for a moment made Albus look queasy. Then the Slytherin realized why.

'"No matter how much you fancy her"?' Cordelia Gilbert asked, closing the book she had been reading and leaning against the bookshelf. Patricia adjusted herself so she could partake in the conversation later. 'Does dear old Al finally have his eye on a girl?'

'You say that like I've been pursuing lads,' Albus said, though he looked relieved that she hadn't heard the conversation prior to his feeling defeated.

'Well?' Cordelia pressed, her tone slow. 'Who _do_ you fancy?'

Again, but this time with much a kinder mood, Albus raised his eyebrows. 'What makes you think I'd tell you?'

'You told _her_, didn't you?—No offence, Patricia,' she added quickly. 'I just mean to say that you two haven't been mates all that long and—'

'—it's okay, Cordelia,' Patricia soothed, 'don't have a stroke.'

The Ravenclaw made a dramatic display of inhaling and exhaling, to show Patricia she was calm. 'I understand,' she said unhappily.

'You do?'

'Of course,' she told them. 'You'—to Albus—'don't want to tell me because I'm going out with James and you think I'd tell him, or something equally daft.' She looked disappointed. 'What happened to "mates before dates", Al? I ask you that.'

And, with faux dramatics, she left.

'No,' Albus said quietly, 'it's not because she's James's girlfriend. It's because she's _it_.'

* * *

_**October 23**_

* * *

'I fancy you.'

Patricia looked up and watched Scorpius sit casually down beside her.

'Just in case you didn't know.'

She smiled. 'I never would have guessed.'

Scorpius liked this: he had thought the last few days without them speaking quite a cumbersome task, considering that he was by himself if not with her. He didn't like the boys in his dormitory; McCormick and his friends, no matter how kind they tried to be to each other on the Quidditch pitch, were a bunch of uncouth pricks. They found enjoyment in talking about how attractive girls in other houses were, how rewarding a relationship with be if they were with them, and half of the boys hated Scorpius as much as he them after he had punched Kane Nott for trying to hit on Patricia in fourth year. They had all called him homophobic slurs, which of course weren't true, because Scorpius preferred her company to theirs.

But really, at the end of the day, who was getting snogged the most? Probably him.

'Do you fancy _me_, then?'

Patricia nodded.

'And how long has this been going on?'

'You tell me and I'll tell you.'

'Hey—no fair! I asked you first!'

'Yeah,' Patricia admitted, 'but I was the one who snogged _you_, so you should listen to me.'

'I _do_ listen to you,' Scorpius protested, 'why do I have to... Oh, fine, don't look at me like that! I'll tell you! Hm... all right. I think I started fancying you in about... fourth year?'

Patricia's eyes widened. 'What?'

'I was a stupid fourth-year,' Scorpius insisted, brushing it off and refusing to look at her.

She shook her head. 'No, it's cool—it's just, I've fancied you for about that long, too.'

His attention was on her now, and his gaze followed. 'What?' He spluttered. 'You mean to say that we could've been—you know—snogging like we did... for two _years_? And no one said anything?' Scorpius looked outraged. 'You let me snog a _Weasley_ because you were too afraid to tell me how you felt? Damn, Patricia, I wouldn't have done it if—'

She cut him off with a laugh. 'That's good to hear.'

* * *

'Hello, Hogwarts!'

Melissa Jordan's voice sounded through the magical microphone in the commentator's booth. The crowd below her was separated into four sections, but it wasn't out of necessity. Most houses gathered together by force of habit: a couple of Gryffindors here and there within the sea of Hufflepuffs, and a few more with the Ravenclaws; the Eagles and the Badgers were separated completely, for once, for neither wanted to lose their first Quidditch game of the year. The air was filled with the same atmosphere of the previous match, however without the Potters playing, things weren't as hyped up. They couldn't help but carry the intensity with them.

'It's a nice, bright Saturday; look, the teams are coming onto the pitch!'

Cordelia entered the pitch with her team, and Miles Clarke with his. They shook hands roughly; Clarke obviously didn't want to hurt Cordelia, because she was a girl and therefore meant to be fragile, but the Ravenclaw didn't care about that. She wasn't going to cut anyone any slack: Ravenclaw was there to _win_.

The teams mounted their brooms and the Snitch was released. It fluttered briefly in front of Clarke's face—for he, despite his size, was the Hufflepuff Seeker—and then around Gabbie Sterling's, who looked puny by comparison, before setting off in a blur of shining gold. The Bludgers were airborne and then quickly, the Quaffle.

'It's Gilbert from Ravenclaw with the Quaffle. She dodges a Bludger, evades Cadwallader's blocking technique... she's heading for the goalposts! Feints to the left, and it's ten-nil to Ravenclaw!'

Cordelia zoomed back to meet her fellow Chasers as James, who was down in a section of the stands filled with Slytherins, Ravenclaws and Gryffindors alike, reminded everyone rather smugly that "that's my girlfriend, that is!". Evan Cadwallader flew up the pitch with the Quaffle in his hand, skirting around Bridget Davies who tried to knock him off-course. He was about thirty feet from the goalposts when Archie Myers aimed a Bludger at Cadwallader's shoulder blades, grinning and high-fiving Gabbie Sterling as the Bludger found its mark.

'I love your ugly, flat-faced sod of a boyfriend!' cried Fred, hugging Molly so fiercely that he picked her up and upset several second-years by almost hitting them with her feet. Barbara, who was looking on, grinned.

'Davies is on her way up the pitch. She passes the Quaffle to Seth Shaw—and it's twenty-nil to Ravenclaw!'

* * *

Half an hour later, the score was sixty-ten to Ravenclaw—Hufflepuff's sole score was because Will seemed distracted by something down in the Gryffindor section of the stands and did not recover in time to defend; he apologized to Cordelia about ten times when she passed him—without a sign of the Golden Snitch. Both Clarke and Gabbie had practically nothing to do, just circling around the pitch and trying not to get hit by oncoming Bludgers. Unfortunately, one such Bludger, aimed by one of the Hufflepuff Beaters, got Seth Shaw in the chest as he went to steal the Quaffle from a Chaser.

'Seth Shaw's been hit by a Bludger to the chest; that has _got_ to hurt!' Melissa commentated. 'Wait a second! I think Clarke's seen the Snitch!'

Gabbie whirled around on her broom and sped after him, but it was next to no use. She wouldn't catch up in time. Cordelia shouted the name of Archie's partner in Beating, Reed Connery, and the boy got the message: he darted over to where the Bludger was flying and hit it in Clarke's direction. Hit in the shoulder, he fumbled the Snitch and shot to the left of it as Gabbie filled in the slot and her hand closed around the little golden ball, its wings flapping between her fingers. Madam Hooch's whistle sounded and the rest of the Ravenclaw team flew over to greet Gabbie in a mid-air hug; while Archie Myers zoomed past them and threw a large, muscular arm around Reed Connery instead.

The Hufflepuff team left the pitch looking quite disgruntled, but the Ravenclaws were too pleased to notice. They landed near the Ravenclaw part of the stands, where the cheering was loudest, all grinning broadly. Gabbie held up the Snitch to them and Bridget bowed dramatically.

Cordelia, Gabbie, and Bridget were the last to leave the changing room, all still feeling quite proud of themselves for winning the game. James was waiting for the Ravenclaw Captain outside.

'Hello, extremely talented and beautiful girlfriend,' he said with a charming smile. He regarded Bridget and Gabbie, 'ladies.'

They both returned the smile, Gabbie a little pinkly, and then left Cordelia with the Head Boy. He put an arm around her.

'I must say, that was a great game.'

'Not nearly as dramatic as any of Gryffindor's,' Cordelia said, though admittedly she wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

'Well,' James said piteously, 'we can't all be charming, attractive, intelligent... did I mention "attractive"?'

Cordelia chuckled. 'I never thought I'd go out with someone who liked himself more than he liked me.'

'Hey!' said James. 'No matter how it seems, I need you. I mean, I can't do _this_ by myself,' he added by way of explanation, using the arm he had around Cordelia to pull her in for a kiss. They stood there a moment, Cordelia's arm wrapping around James's midriff and lingering against his side as the two of them broke apart and walked away from the changing rooms.

* * *

_**October 24**_

* * *

'Morning, Peps.'

Eager to see what nonsense his brother was spouting now, Albus looked up. '"Peps"?'

James sprang into the seat beside him and nodded. 'Yip.'

'Fine,' said Albus, momentarily abandoning his marmalade-spread toast and turning his attention to the Head Boy, 'I'll play. What's "Peps"?'

James closed his eyes and made a patronizing face. 'It's not a "what"; it's a "who". _You_, to be precise. _You're_ Peps.'

'Why's that?'

'Because you've got dark hair. Like pepper—pepper's dark.' Since Albus didn't make any sign of a response, James looked sidelong at him. Seeing that he couldn't have understood, James sighed. 'It could be worse, you know. Because if you've got Peps, Rocky's not too far away.'

Albus's eyebrows shot up. 'Rocky? Who's that, then? And why "Rocky"?'

'Well, salt and pepper. Rock salt, to be precise. Al, you're meant to be smart—_think_. Whose hair is the opposite of yours?'

Realization dawning, Albus roared with laughter. A few girls at the Hufflepuff table looked over concernedly, but James waved them off and they turned back to whatever they had been doing.

'I can't imagine Scorpius having a very good reaction to that!' Albus exclaimed.

'Come to think of it, he _did_ look at me funny when I yelled it at him across the Entrance Hall.'

* * *

'Eyes. Decadence.'

Barbara and Fred looked up from their breakfast, both a little puzzled. The Weasley boy put his spoon back in his cereal and said decidedly, 'It's official. James's gone mental.'

The Head Boy shook his head and sat down. His brother had left and now, wanting to use up some of his new nicknames, James had gone for the next best thing: Fred and Barbara. Or, rather, "Eyes" and "Decadence". "Eyes" was quite a complimentary nickname: due to being the second Weasley to be named Fred, his cousin had the two little IIs behind his name in a formal sense; which looked like the letter "I" to James, and since there was more than one, the sense was plural. Plus, Fred was pretty easy on the eyes. (This was the part of "Eyes" that he thought was the best, and it was what reassured the Head Boy that his Nickname-Making was brilliant.)

And "Decadence" was a play off of Barbara's last name: Tennant. Well, specifically, the first syllable: Ten. The "Dec" part of the nickname was because of this, and then the rest was just because James was a good person, and because he liked Barbara well enough.

'I promise you,' he said, 'it's really not as much nonsense as you think.'

'"Eyes"?' Barbara enquired. '"Decadence"?'

James pointed his hands toward Fred. '"Eyes",' he explained. Then he moved his gaze to Barbara and said, "'Decadence". Figure it out yourself.'

* * *

'Potter Alert.'

James ignored the fact that Bridget Davies's tone hadn't been one of great flattery towards him and continued on his way across the Entrance Hall to his girlfriend and the girl's companions. Cordelia had a Ravenclaw scarf wrapped around her neck and the tones of blue made her almost look like a beacon. But not in a bad way, of course; because to James Cordelia never looked anything less than perfect.

Bridget and Sarah turned their taller friend around and Cordelia smiled quickly when she noticed for herself who it was. 'To what to I owe the pleasure?' she asked.

'Nothing. I just wanted to say hello, Poppins.'

'Poppins?' Cordelia asked, her eyebrows furrowing momentarily. Her friends, who were at that moment trying to move away to give the girl some space, looked equally as puzzled. This made James feel quite proud of himself for thinking of such obscure nicknames that he had even trumped a trio of Ravenclaws. _Personal achievement_.

James ignored the fact that the real reason none of them probably knew anything about the origin of _Poppins_ was because they were all from wizard families and just let himself bask in the brilliance of his creations. Then he turned his attention back to his girlfriend.

With a wink, James said, 'since Cords-with-no-H never worked out, I've made up a new nickname. And it's Poppins, in case you didn't catch that for some absurd reason,' and quickly marched away.

He passed Lily, who asked why James had just called Cordelia "Poppins", but all she got in return was 'you'll never know, Number Three.'

* * *

_**October 25**_

* * *

People were going mental. If things continued as they were, then the world would surely fall to apocalypse; if not by combustion or freezing, then by the pure stupidity of the teenage population. Andy rolled her eyes hopelessly as Shelley Corner pretended to see something in the steam rising from her goblet, and Professor Trelawney hurried over to pass judgment over whatever it was that the Ravenclaw told her she was seeing.

Admittedly, Andy had only taken the class because it was purely based upon spiritual matters, and you could lie through your teeth and still get an O, as long as you agreed with what Trelawney had to say.

'What do you see, girl?'

Shelley furrowed her eyebrows. 'It's dark... something dangerous, I think... now it's turning pink, or red... something to do with love, but now it's turning black again and splintering up and...' She faded off and Professor Trelawney looked impressed.

_Typical_, thought Andy, _say you see something terrible, full of sorrow and Trelawney will eat it up_.

Trelawney finished praising Shelley and left back to her place at the front of the large, tiered room. Shelley set about muttering to her seatmate about that it wasn't all she'd seen. There had apparently been something more in the steam, that within the pink that turned red that turned black, there had been an eagle and a lion flying through the air, together momentarily and then separating as the image turned to darkness.

Andy rolled her eyes for what seemed like the fiftieth time. This was probably Shelley's way of trying to brainwash her classmates into thinking that Cordelia and James's relationship was doomed: from one of her conversations with Albus, the Hufflepuff knew that Shelley intended to break them up. Perhaps that would even be good for Al, because then he could go out with Cordelia; but she supposed, after the Ravenclaw kissed James, everything was done for. Sadly, it was a bit late for Al now. That much was obvious.

* * *

Albus was in Arithmancy, sitting not with Cordelia but with Rose; the Ravenclaw girl was in front of him with Scorpius, in the seat where Al would usually have been residing. It wasn't a big thing, for Rose had wanted to talk to him, and Cordelia to Scorpius—even though things were a bit awkward for Rose and the Slytherin because she was sitting right behind him and they probably hadn't spoken since their relationship was put out in the open a couple of weeks prior in the Great Hall—so, to the untrained eye, the arrangement had worked out fine.

Even though he was trying his best to get over her, Albus found that it was difficult. They saw each other just as much, and it wasn't like he could just blatantly started ignoring her all of a sudden. On top of being rude, that was stupid as well.

The second Potter son didn't understand Hogwarts. For a school with such a well-known, dark history, things at Hogwarts had gotten, well... _melodramatic_.

Albus fancies Cordelia who fancies James, who just happens to be Albus's brother! Astonishing! Rose used to go out with Scorpius, which was _totally_ rebellious because their families haven't been fans of each other since the beginning of time itself, but now it's all right because he's in love with his best mate, Patricia! And if best mate clichés weren't as frequent as you'd like them to be: Fred's in love with _his_ best mate, Barbara, but she doesn't believe what everyone on the face of the planet is telling her! _Oh, Hogwarts!_

Things couldn't have been more complicated in his father's day, could they? But then again, that was most likely what every teenager thought. And it probably had been.

Well, such a thought for _Albus_ had been stupid—his father and his father's friends (all of whom were now related to him, strangely enough) had been at battle against a dark wizard trying to exterminate Muggleborns and anyone who wasn't a Slytherin and/or pureblood supremacist.

That definitely put Al's (non-)problems into perspective.


	20. Beautiful

**Disclaimer:** Shout out to J.K. Rowling creating the platform on which I work.

**AN: **My internet got cut off on the 27th of June, but on the upside I've written the next three chapters. I would also like to congratulate Bill, Fleur, Ron, and Hermione, on not naming any of their children after someone in the generations prior. (That we know of.)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

"**Beautiful"**

**Or**

"**The Slut and the Slytherin".**

* * *

For James Potter, it was sublime.

For Cordelia Gilbert, it was oblivious, but not any less perfect.

For Albus Potter, it involved indecision and doubt.

For Patricia Day, it was open.

For Scorpius Malfoy, it was a breath of fresh air.

For Barbara Tennant, it was still only a possibility.

For Fred Weasley, it was barely understandable.

But only some of that was on the surface.

* * *

_**October 26**_

* * *

Tuesday came to a close with much confusion and, in the case of "Peps" Potter, a visit to the kitchens with Louis and Andy. The Invisibility Cloak, which Albus had to fish around in the bottom of his trunk for, was about to embark on its first use since the year began. He and Louis crept out of the portrait hole, narrowly avoiding the two Prefects on duty: Isaiah Zabini and Caladora Goyle, who James had presumably paired together because he didn't like either of them particularly much. Albus dodged the trick step going down the stairs on the second floor, and helped Louis do the same, before they hurried the remaining distance and reached the corner where an anxious Andy was waiting.

They pulled the Invisibility Cloak off in the shadows behind a suit of armour and emerged. Andy started.

'Thank Merlin,' she said in a hushed voice, 'I was beginning to think you two wouldn't come—I thought Filch might've caught you, or Peeves.'

'Speaking of which,' Louis murmured, 'can we hurry this along? You two might be content with standing out here all night, but I'd much rather be in the kitchens.'

Andy nodded quickly. 'Of course.'

A few moments later, they reached the door. Andy reached down and tickled the pear expertly; the entrance sprang open and the air was filled with smells of fruit, sizzling bacon, and some kind of soup was brewing in a large vat at the other side of the kitchen. Andy hurried inside, Louis and Albus following behind her.

Seamy the house elf hurried up to them; he was wearing his usual potato sack and shabbily knitted beanie, complete with a little star hanging off the top. He looked like a badly decorated Christmas tree. At the sight of them, Seamy sank into a bow so deep the end of his pointed nose touched the floor.

'Miss Andy,' he said, 'I be most happy to see you! You is bringing guests!'

Noticing Albus and Louis, Seamy bowed once more. 'Finest greetings, Mister Albus! Miss Andy is speaking of—'

Andy clamped a hand over Seamy's mouth and smiled nervously at her company. She shot a stern look at Seamy before removing her hand.

'And you is being Mister Louis, yes?'

Louis nodded and gave a little wave. It was his first trip to the kitchens; on all other occasions he had refused to wake up and right himself enough to leave the dormitory.

'I is been meeting your sister Dominique! Long time gone now, sir, but Seamy does still remember all the similar.'

Louis nodded once more, and Andy moved on to the purpose of their journey. 'Have you got anything for me tonight, Seamy?'

The small elf nodded; a gesture which almost caused the beanie to fall from his head. Andy and Albus both moved to right it, but the elf noticed the problem and fixed it himself. 'Of course, Miss Andy. Always having something for you!'

He momentarily disappeared, returning with a large cake. Albus couldn't decide if it looked delicious or fattening, but then he remembered that he was a teenage boy and therefore not meant to worry about such stereotypically feminine issues. Andy was the only girl in his company and she didn't seem to mind, but perhaps she just had incredibly high self esteem. Taking a bite of the slice he had been dealt, Albus's theory was confirmed: he was, indeed, an absolute mess.

* * *

_**October 27**_

* * *

'Do you have any idea why James walked past me this morning and called me "Scarlet"? I mean I know it's close to "Shelley", but I'd have thought—you know—after having a snog, at least he'd know my name.'

Cordelia rolled her eyes and turned to face Shelley, who despite being inside the library was re-applying lipstick. This afternoon, the colour of choice was—you guessed it—_Scarlet_. Though Cordelia was sure James hadn't been commenting on Shelley's shade of lipstick when he walked past. She was also somewhat irked that, in every conversation they had, Shelley saw fit to bring up James, and the fact that she had kissed him, and he her.

'No,' said Cordelia, trying to remain calm, 'I don't know.'

'That's too bad,' Shelley replied.

A small gang of boys were gathering at the table opposite theirs, the direction in which Shelley was facing. She finished applying the lipstick, then ran her tongue along her lips and puckered, almost as if kissing the air. The boys at the next table dissolved into puddles of lust. She stretched, which did unspeakable things to her blouse, and watched them all go bright red. Cordelia, disgusted, returned to her book.

Deciding that the girl was a boring companion, Shelley ventured over to the boys' table, leaning over it to speak to them. Cordelia could hear the conversation even from the distance at which she was.

'Hi, boys... you're in Slytherin, right?'

The boys all nodded, transfixed.

'I've been told I'm quite good at _Parseltongue_ myself,' Shelley purred. She giggled. 'I'm doing a test—will you boys stand up a moment for me?'

They did so, and Shelley looked at the two tallest, who were exactly the same height. She asked if either of them had a girlfriend; she took the hand of the one that said he didn't and told the boy with the girlfriend to tell her that Shelley Corner had just done her a favour before pulling the other with her, out of the library.

* * *

Shelley peeled herself off the surprised-looking Slytherin boy and readjusted her skirt. The wooden table felt uncomfortable under her knees. The boy—funny, she still didn't even know his name—was breathing deeply. 'Sh—should I take you to Hogsmeade?' He asked shakily.

Shelley raised her eyebrows, sliding off the table and pacing slowly around the room. 'Why would you do a silly little thing like that?'

The boy pulled himself up into a sitting position on the edge of the table. He gulped. 'A—are you always this calm, after you...?'

Not even bothering to laugh, Shelley began to tie up her hair. 'So,' she said, facing away from him, 'what's your name?'

'Don't you even...?' He sighed. 'I'm Dylan McCormick.'

Shelley ran her tongue along her lips, finally beginning to recognize him. 'Save a broom, ride a Quidditch player—you didn't used to go out with Venice Higgs, did you?'

McCormick swallowed. 'Yeah, but we broke up a few weeks ago.'

Shelley shoved her lipstick back into her pocket without even beginning to re-apply it. 'She's ghastly.'

'She dumped me.'

The little gasp escaped Shelley's lips before she had a chance to stifle it. Whirling back around to face McCormick, she closed the distance between them with pure determination and rammed her mouth to his. They stayed there a moment before Shelley pushed him slowly back into a laying down position and pulled herself up to rest above him. Using her arms to support her weight, she told the breathless Chaser, 'If she finds out you spent an hour in an empty classroom doing Merlin-Knows-What with Shelley Corner, she'll definitely want you back.'

She sprang off him, and McCormick replied, 'I don't know if that'll convince her. I know Venice—if anything would win her back; it's me being some kind of sensitive sap, which would only be shown if I could hold onto a fit girlfriend for a while.'

Shelley thought about it. If you ignored the fact that he fancied Cordelia, the only real reason keeping James from dating Shelley was the fact he thought she couldn't hold onto relationships. Perhaps she was being given the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone here. If Higgs thought McCormick had tamed _Shelley Corner_, it would definitely work in his favour. And if James thought she was settling down for a proper period of time, perhaps she would get something out of it as well.

'Dylan, you're not just going to hold onto a fit girlfriend,' Shelley told him, 'you're going to hold onto _me_.'

* * *

_**October 28**_

* * *

'Poppins!' James called down the corridor. Cordelia came to a stop, but she didn't turn around. 'Gilbert!'

At this, she turned.

'What is it, James?'

He hurried over to her, that day's _Daily Prophet_ clutched in his hand. He held it up in front of her and said proudly, 'My dear, we did it. We made the _Daily Prophet_!'

Cordelia's eyes widened, her eyes falling on the small moving photograph of James and Cordelia that had graced the top right corner of the front page. The caption bore: _New Love for Potter Boy?_ and Cordelia, in shock, turned to page thirteen, as the writing under the caption instructed her. Ignoring the hullaballoo that was surely being caused, she began to read.

_James Potter II, son of war hero Harry Potter and ex-Holyhead Harpies Chaser Ginny Potter, has possibly found love—and our sources assure us that it's for real this time! The mystery girl you see in the picture above is none other than Cordelia Gilbert, a Ravenclaw in the year below Head Boy Potter at school. The two became friends at the beginning of this school year, and began dating around the end of September; you may think they're moving fast, but there's no stopping teenage romance!_

_ Though their real friendship only came to life this year, one of our sources tells us: "James has been commenting on her Quidditch for years—she plays on the Ravenclaw team, you know. This year she's Captain." We know that Potter has been captaining his own house of Gryffindor for a while now. Will the competition for Quidditch supremacy spell an end for this whirlwind romance? Hopefully, their feelings are strong enough not to let sport get in the way. The chances of this look good as another source states, "I've never seen James look at someone the way he looks at Cordelia."_

_ Is Potter's questionable past in the field of romance over, or will the couple—who, together, are approaching the one month mark—be another fling that burns out too soon? We asked a few family members if they cared to comment, and here are the responses we received: "James is seventeen, he can make his own decisions—it's his life," from Harry Potter, the boy's father; "I've seen them together, and it's a very easy, breezy relationship," from Potter's cousin Dominique Weasley; and—perhaps our personal favourite—from Dominique's sister Victoire (who is set to marry long-time boyfriend Teddy Lupin come January), "Cordelia and I met a little while ago; she couldn't be more fantastic for James—I love her!"_

_ Hopefully, so does Potter. Only time will tell if what sounds like a perfect romance, really is one._

Finishing the article, Cordelia's gaze returned to the photo of her and James that was set above it. Obviously taken during a Hogsmeade weekend—which restored her trust that reporters couldn't get into the school—it depicted Cordelia and James standing together outside the Weasley's shop, smiling at one another; James had one arm around her. It was either just before or just after she met Teddy and Victoire. Deducing that if the picture were taken afterwards, she would have been falling about laughing in it, Cordelia decided that it was definitely taken before the hilarity ensued.

Still unable to believe that she was in the _Prophet_, she looked up at James. His eyebrows were raised slightly, as if he was unsure of what to expect, and a grin had graced his cheeks. Cordelia let out a little chuckle, probably looking as appalled as she felt. 'You're famous, Poppins.'

'Yeah,' Cordelia said bitterly, 'known to all of wizard Britain as the ditzy bird on your arm.'

'Hey! They said you were a Ravenclaw, didn't they? That warrants intelligence—and wit and learning and all that other stuff the hat sings about. Plus, they spent about ten hours on your Quidditch, didn't they?'

Cordelia nodded. 'At least they didn't compare me to your mum.' (Who was Cordelia's favourite ex-Quidditch player in her own right.)

James pointed to the sub-heading, which read: _Potter men seem to love their Quidditch players_—_Read more below!_

'Never mind,' Cordelia said, writing the article off completely. 'That's... I don't know. Don't let me pass judgment.'

James shrugged. 'If you were anyone else, you'd be complaining about the fact that the picture makes you look fat; not whether or not you sounded intelligent.'

Alarmed, Cordelia asked, 'does it?'

'What?'

'_Does_ the picture make me look fat?'

James shook his head. 'Of course not—that was a stupid example of one of many superficial things you could've said. But didn't.'

'All right,' Cordelia settled. 'Now if you don't mind, I've got to get to the library—Al said he needed me for something in Arithmancy.'

'Have fun being intelligent, Poppins,' James said. He liked using the nickname because of how it irked her. She was attractive when irked. Perhaps she should be irked more often. _Irked, irked, irked..._

'Does "Poppins" have anything to do with some sick "poppet" nickname, or am I saved that dire embarrassment?'

'Nah,' James reassured her, 'it's nothing to do with "poppet". I promise.'

* * *

_**October 29**_

* * *

Barbara was approached by an unfamiliar guest that Friday at lunch. She was sure that, minus the occasional awkward conversation at some form of gathering, she and Rose Weasley had never had a proper sit-down-and-chat. Ever. But the girl caught her eye as Barbara went down the stairs from the Charms corridor and joined her.

'Excuse me if this is strange,' Rose said, 'but I just want to ask, for the sake of a friend, what's Will Bowen like?'

Barbara was slightly taken aback by the question, and took time to think about it. 'Will's not bad. He's in Ravenclaw, so he's really smart. And he's a pretty good Keeper, as you noticed last weekend. He seems like a nice guy—a bit mad, at times, but so is everyone worth talking to. I don't know him that well, though.'

Rose nodded.

'So which friend's asking?'

Rose looked a bit surprised, and Barbara elaborated: 'You know, about Will Bowen?'

'Oh,' Rose stammered. 'Lottie. You know how she is about boys.'

'Caught her eye at the Quidditch match, did he?'

Rose replied, 'A bit before that, actually. But don't mention this to her, or anyone else; I don't want her knowing I told you. Is that all right?'

Barbara nodded. She could see why Lottie wouldn't want her interest in a seventh year getting out, especially if she was starting to think she seriously fancied the bloke. Not that she knew anything about Lottie Flanagan, or about what was going on in her head, but Barbara was a girl and that tends to be the thought path when an older boy captures your attention. 'Of course.'

'Thanks, Barbara. Okay,' Rose added a moment later, 'don't take this the wrong way, because I don't want to freak you out or anything... but you're _really_ beautiful.'

Almost getting her foot stuck in the trick step on the stairwell, Barbara exclaimed, 'what?'

'I mean—I just noticed it now.'

'Wow,' Barbara said quietly. 'All right. Thank you.'

'I'm sorry if that was strange!'

'No,' she told Rose, 'it wasn't. I just... don't hear it often.'

Rose's eyebrows shot up quickly, and then down again with the same speed. It was almost as though she were shrugging them. 'You should,' was all she said.

* * *

Patricia followed Venice's gaze to the entrance of the Great Hall as the girl said, 'are you kidding me? He can't be going out with that _slut_.'

Shelley Corner's arm was linked in McCormick's, her outfit almost completely respectable if you didn't look at her chest—which, Patricia supposed, would contradict the entire purpose of having that area on display. The two of them looked quite happy, and she gave him a quick squeeze before retiring to the Ravenclaw table. Venice instead converted her hatred to swearing under her breath and thankfully rendered Patricia's services unnecessary. She hadn't meant to get drawn into Venice's world of melodramatics and misery, but when Scorpius hadn't been speaking to her, Patricia had needed someone. And her roommates counted as "someone", so they were who she got.

The exemption to this was Kathryn, who Scorpius still affectionately referred to as "the troll" and who had been down in the common room or cooped up in the library when Venice gave her lectures; if she had not, they would have all been thinking about the previous year's Christmas Party—which, as Patricia had thought earlier, was more of a ball held, for all intents and purposes, by Professor Slughorn—and the atmosphere would have been rather uncomfortable indeed. Thankfully, Kathryn kept to herself and didn't seem interested in bothering the girls of the dormitory with her nonsense. Louis from Beauxbatons hadn't been brought up in a while, at least.

Patricia scooted down the table to Scorpius, who had safely navigated away from his roommates, and was now waiting for her company. When she joined him, he asked the same question Venice had, though his was more of a question instead of an exclamation, and contained much less cursing. 'Is McCormick _actually_ thick enough to be playing about with Corner?'

'You're thick enough to be playing about with _me_,' Patricia pointed out.

'Yeah,' said Scorpius, 'but at least you've got a brain and you're solid company. Corner's about as appealing as a second-hand "Admit One" ticket for my Great Aunt Andromeda's ensemble orchestra.'

'Are you saying that because it's true, or because you want to get a snog out of it?'

'Because it's true,' Scorpius told her. 'But I wouldn't mind a snog. You know, if there's one on offer.'

* * *

_**October 30**_

* * *

With the fact that there were no Quidditch matches to be looked forward to that weekend, a Hogsmeade visit was in order. The lines stretched long into the morning, and there were many complaining students involved. Barbara found herself standing with Fred behind Rose and her friends—Lottie Flanagan included. Usually, she wouldn't have minded, if it weren't for the fact that in front of that group stood Will Bowen, accompanied by a trio of equally tall and equally intelligent Ravenclaw boys.

_Well_, thought Barbara in hopes that Molly would forgive her, _except for Saucepan Face_.

But she had to admit, Archie Myers was a nice enough guy when push came to shove. When Saucepan came to Face.

Will Bowen, taking a moment's rest from whatever his conversation had entailed, looked fleetingly over in Lottie's direction; the redhead, however, was not paying the slightest attention. She was instead demanding that the line moved faster so she could get to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and see if Teddy was on a shift. He had been back to the castle only briefly, but that was only to help the second-year Herbology classes pot Mandrakes, and to make sure Hagrid wasn't doing anything illegal or dangerous—well, "dangerous" as in "more dangerous than usual"—in his teachings on Blast-Ended Skrewts.

Then the line began to move again and Barbara's thoughts were otherwise occupied.

Since the publication of the _Daily Prophet_ featuring James and Cordelia had sold so well—it was really just a surge of Hogwarts students trying to gather any other gossip on the couple they might have missed out on hearing—a few reporters were milling about in Hogsmeade, probably waiting for a tip they could use. One such reporter was eyeing Cordelia as she stood outside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, talking good naturedly to not her boyfriend, but Victoire.

Lucy was the first of her company to notice this. 'Hey, Lils,' she said, nudging Lily with her left hand, 'your lady-crush is being stalked.'

Lily rolled her eyes, saying disgustedly, 'she's not even a bloody _Potter_ yet and they're following her around.' Then a moment later, when her mind went over what Lucy had said once more, 'don't call her my "lady-crush", however true it may or may not be.'

'So she _is_ the first girl on the list of people you'd snog if you went the other way?'

Lily shook her head at her cousin. 'Tell the world, why don't you?'

She slapped a hand over Lucy's mouth as she moved to, and when Lily was sure her cousin wasn't going to blurt it out, she excused herself to go and congratulate Cordelia on her fantastic game of Quidditch the previous weekend. _The reporters are going to love this_, she thought bitterly.

Lily gave the _Prophet _two days before Cordelia and James's next exclusive was published.

* * *

'Well,' said Madam Rosmerta, who was usually gorgeous but for now just looked tired, 'about time.'

Patricia and Scorpius, both still a little bit new to being in a relationship, and even more new to the thought of every single person in their lives—including the barmaids of The Three _sodding_ Broomsticks—having known how they felt about each other longer than _they_ had, looked at one another. They really had no idea what else to do. Pink in cheek, Patricia tried for a smile, which Madam Rosmerta returned, before setting down their jugs of butterbeer and moving back to her place behind the bar.

'Okay,' said Scorpius, 'we're going out. Like, this is a thing. That exists.'

'Don't let it blow your mind or anything.'

Scorpius looked questioningly at her. 'What are you talking about? I'm _insanely_ calm about this!'

To prove his point, he leaned back against the back of the booth and continued to mutter 'ooh, look at me... I'm so calm... you just wish you were this calm... but you can't be, because you're not me...' Patricia chuckled and took a sip of her butterbeer. As corny as it sounded, she wasn't sure if the warmth spreading through her was because of the drink, or because of how elated she was that things had _finally_ started going right for her. And by "things", she really meant "Scorpius-fancies-me-oh-Merlin-thank-you", but she wasn't about to admit it.

'No,' Patricia told her best friend, 'I just think you're _insane_.'

Recovering, Scorpius began to look around with wide-eyes. 'I have two things to say,' he declared. 'One: we're going out. Oh my god. That is fantastic. Two: my name is _Scorpius_.' His face made it clear he thought the whole thing was ridiculous. 'Scorpius. I mean... what _is_ that? Like all you people get brilliant, normal names: Patricia... James... Thomas... but no, I've _got_ to be Scorpius. Do Malfoys just have kids and say "all right, got a kid here, let's make sure he's never one of three kids with the same name; no, my son won't be Johnny M!"? Because it's not just Scorpius, it's Scorpius _Hyperion_. I mean, my dad's name is Draco. That's all right, really. But _Scorpius_...'

Patricia was laughing out loud by this point.

'The only person who could even _slightly_ understand my pain would be Albus! We could be the –us...es! But even then... _Scorpius_? Really?'

* * *

_**October 31**_

* * *

Fred turned over on his other side and groaned as the raucous bellowing he had heard approaching up the stairs finally entered the room. Felix and Quentin were in a deep debate about Shelley Corner's new boyfriend, and how annoyed Quentin was that she hadn't even said a word to him since he got out of the hospital wing. Wood and James were on Felix's side, which was basically contesting that Quentin was being a girl about the issue, and that he needed to grow a pair and move on, because Shelley certainly had.

Fortunately, while this violent argument raged on, his fellow Gryffindors did not ask Fred to take a side, and instead left him to his thoughts. Being a teenage boy, these thoughts would usually have revolved around girls, sports, and whether or not he had a clue of what he wanted to do after he finished at Hogwarts, but this was not the case for Fred.

Instead he was worrying about whether or not he should have been writing to his father and seeing if things were all right. It had been a while since he had written, and even though Fred knew his mother would notify him immediately if somewhat terrible had happened—which was a thought, like many others, that for his own emotional health Fred did not allow himself to dwell on—he didn't feel right not having sent a letter. There was that feeling in the pit of his stomach like when one completely forgets about something, and then remember it rather quickly and all at once; it almost knocked the wind out of him and sent the contents of his stomach down to his toes.

Finding an inkwell on his bedside table, accompanied by a quill that wasn't too bent out of shape and some stray parchment he probably should have been using for some assignment at one point or another, Fred began at a letter. He didn't even really know what to say.

_Dear Dad (and Mum, because there's probably a chance this arrived and Dad wasn't home, so hello to you.)_

_ Things have been going well at school. Gryffindor won the first match of the season. Roxanne sent someone to the hospital wing with one hit: it's funny... she might actually be my sister, not just some alien who lives in our house. I haven't gotten too many detentions_—_Neville had to give me two for punching someone in the face, but there're no hard feelings because he was the only teacher there and he kind of had no other choice. Why did I punch someone in the face, you ask? Some Hufflepuff (yes, I punched a Hufflepuff. Not even a Slytherin. A Hufflepuff.) was being a bastard and saying horrible things about Barbs. So, yeah, nothing major._

_ Molly, James, Jess Thomas and I have got something planned for Christmas, but I'll tell you more about that when it happens._

_Love (and some other stuff, too),_

_Fred_

_P.S. Merlin, this was short. What has happened to my life? I'm interesting, I swear._


	21. A Woman's Kind of Folly

**Disclaimer:** Thank you, J.K. Rowling, for first, thinking of Harry, and then of his children.

**AN: **So it's 2:41am on the 28th of June. I wrote the last chapter between 10pm and 2:30am. Let's do this. (I fell asleep at 4:06am and woke up at exactly 2:00pm, and am now going over the end of this chapter at 12:17am on the 29th, having been busy most of the day. Where does the time go, man?)

**Chapter Twenty-One**

"**A Woman's Kind of Folly****"**

**Or**

"**Peps, Poppins, and the Pox****".**

_**November 1**_

Humankind is practically obsessed with the idea of problems, and how they make life so miserable, but for a person with so few problems, the world didn't give Cordelia Gilbert much time to think about them. One problem that had been lifted off the heap was the outcome of the previous Quidditch match which—thanks to Gabbie and Reed—had been a success. Another was getting past one month in some kind of successful relationship, which she had passed by surprisingly easily. Now she only had to worry about this month, then December...

But neither problem was the one that had been eating at her.

She hadn't been given the chance to really think about it before now, which Cordelia could not class as a good thing or a bad thing without much intensive debate, but sitting in her dormitory alone (Shelley was with her new "boyfriend", McCormick, and the other three girls were presumably in the common room or roaming around the grounds), she decided it was the perfect time.

She fished out the letter from below a mountain of books on her bedside table and unfolded it. The date read "October 17", and the penmanship was her mother's. It was not the _Dear Cordelia_ at the beginning of the letter that so displeased her, nor was it the _Lots of love, Mum_ at the end; for what it was worth, these six words were probably the two most heartening phrases in the entirety of the letter. It was the two paragraphs between them that made everything difficult.

_Dear Cordelia,_

_I'm so pleased to hear about how everything has been going at school. You're making everybody here at home so proud. Quidditch Captain and Ravenclaw Prefect, to boot! However, your success is just about all that's keeping us from being upset at the moment. Things with your grandmother have gotten worse. The Healers at St. Mungo's have done all they can, but unfortunately there isn't really anything within their power to do._

_They've suggested that she come and stay with us for what time she has left. Don't worry, Cordelia; the Dragonpox haven't spread too severely—you'll see her when you get on Christmas holidays, but I can't grant years. However, continue to do your best and make her (and the rest of us) proud! Make sure Mitchell stays out of trouble—do make sure he's all right, won't you? I'll write again soon, darling girl._

_Lots of love,_

_Mum_

It was, perhaps, the fifteenth time Cordelia had gone through the letter. It was like reading a book over and over again and hoping that maybe your favourite character wouldn't die; such a miracle, however, was impossible. Taking a few deep breaths, Cordelia tried to calm herself down. It was the first of November! Things were supposed to be jovial!

There was a sudden tapping on the window that startled Cordelia out of her daydream. It was an owl: her owl, to be exact. She untied the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ her mother had sent, along with another letter which hopefully bared better news. Cordelia patted the owl affectionately. 'Thanks, Gwenog.'

Perhaps naming her owl after a Quidditch player had been a bit obsessive, but Cordelia neglected to mind. Instead, she gave Gwenog the owl another good pat or two and then sent her to the Owlery, where she took up almost permanent residence.

Cordelia unrolled the newspaper, and saw another two pictures of herself and various Weasley relatives; the article was this time about how well she got on with the rest of James's family. The reporter, obviously trying to write for a younger, more pubescent audience, tried to make Cordelia and Victoire sound like they were practically best friends. Tossing the ridiculous exaggeration aside, she picked up the letter her mother had enclosed. It wasn't so much a letter as a short fill in:

_Cordelia,_

_Your grandmother laughed at this. She insists that you bring this James boy to meet her at Christmas. The only thing she's more vocal about is that if she didn't have rippling wrinkles or patches of skin that resemble beetroot, she'd be trying to steal him from you._

_Lots of love,_

_Mum_

_P.S. Your grandmother also insists you give James a nice big kiss for her sake, and she says you're not allowed to refuse because she's dying and it'd be rather disrespectful._ _Good to know she hasn't lost her sense of humour._

_**November 2**_

'Have you actually said "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" yet?'

Pulling a woollen jumper over her shoulders, Patricia stopped to think about it. 'Not in those words, precisely.'

Ruby, who was not nearly as convinced by all the forced rituals that Venice was, pointed a comb at Patricia. 'You should do that. Preferably soon.' Patricia shot her a look that was something like "oh, not you, too!", and Ruby stuck her hands up in a surrender. 'If Venice and I are agreeing on something, it's probably smart.'

'What if you haven't said it yet because he doesn't want to?'

Refraining from rolling her eyes with much difficulty, Patricia turned to face Kathryn. The mouse-faced girl was brushing her hair through and not looking at anyone. This was probably a good thing, because Ruby looked bitter and Venice looked murderous.

'I'm just saying.'

The addition of a three word "I'm just saying" meant nothing in the grand scheme of the conversation. It didn't change the topic, or make anyone want to punch Kathryn any less. Patricia had already shown that she had the guts to hit someone by punching a Weasley in the face—a move which Patricia had grown to look back on with neither relish nor regret. She still didn't particularly like Rose, but knowing the only reason Scorpius did what he did with her was because he didn't think Patricia fancied him back... that made the ordeal a lot more bearable.

'How's Louis?' Patricia asked. 'From Beauxbatons?'

Venice managed to keep a straight face, but Ruby had to dive back under a pillow to stop herself from laughing in Kathryn's face.

'I went to France during the summer, actually—my aunt has a house there,' Kathryn said matter-of-factly, 'and it's only a mile or so down from where _he_ lives. There was a letter at my aunt's from Louis, apologizing for blowing me off that one month. So of course, I went to see him.'

'How did it go?' Venice asked lightly.

'Terrible,' Kathryn said in a dramatic tone, 'I found him snogging some girl named Anna! It was _frightful_!'

Ruby asked what happened, and then the rest of them tried their best to care.

Hugo didn't cotton too well to the idea of breaking up with Alana. He quite liked her; she didn't seem nearly as awful as Lily and Lucy made her sound. They told him she had said dreadful things about their family, but he couldn't quite believe that. She always seemed so shy with him!

The time he spent with Alana was nice, because at least for once _he_ was getting noticed by a girl. It wasn't James or Fred or Albus or Louis, it was him! Surely she couldn't be _all_ as bad as his cousins said. They had made a trip down to the Lake together and almost kissed; that had to mean something, didn't it? He told his cousins this, but he didn't receive the effect he had desired.

'Get those Alana Goggles off for a second,' Lucy said, 'and listen: she said James had awful taste, basically couldn't hold onto a girl once he got past snogging them, and that Lily here only likes Cordelia because she's James's girlfriend.'

Hugo shook his head. 'Alana wouldn't say something like—'

'—Like what, Hugo?'

Alana's voice came from behind him, silky smooth and unbearably sweet. She came to stand beside him, linking her arm around his, and looked at his cousins with well-disguised discontent.

'Oh, nothing,' said Hugo. He said it a little too quickly for the statement to be nonchalant, and so Alana looked inquisitive and Lily and Lucy as though an interruption by some large, flying animal would suit very well. Thankfully, Lily was rather good at covering things up.

'Like "I love you",' she said convincingly. 'We were just wondering—since you guys have been together a little while, what the stance on "I love you" was.'

'Oh!' Alana said, suddenly bright and enthusiastic. 'Well, we haven't said it yet—as Hugo mentioned earlier, with "Alana wouldn't say..." but I think we're on the right track!' She gave a hearty giggle. 'What about you two?' She asked Lily and Lucy. 'Have any lads caught _your_ eye—or any girls?' Alana amended quickly, looking at Lily in particular.

The girl's face held an expression of surprise. 'For Merlin's sake!' Lily cried exasperatedly. 'Why does everyone think I'm lesbian for Cordelia Gilbert?'

Forgetting they were in the middle of a corridor, Lily exclaimed rather loudly, as if to prove her point, 'I fancy _blokes_!'

The weeks seemed to go by quickly for Fred Weasley. He had received a letter in reply from his father—usually, George was busy with the shop, so it was Fred's mother who replied, but this was not the case for this occasion—and that made everything sound like it was going well. Uncle Ron was working at the shop as he had been for years now, so there was always someone to keep his father company, which Fred thought was important. The reply hadn't said much apart from how well things were going, and that they—meaning Fred's parents—hoped that things were continuing to go well at Hogwarts.

In response to Fred's "_P.S. Merlin, this was short. What has happened to my life? I'm interesting, I swear._", his father had said, "_P.S. As long as there's something to tell us at Christmas._"

James slid across the table from where he had been pestering Albus to spend dinnertime with his cousin instead. 'Eyes,' James greeted. He checked the name on the letter Fred was holding and asked, 'So what did your dad say?'

'Not much—just that things are going well with the shop and that he hopes our thing at Christmas goes well.'

'Did you tell him, then? About the plan?'

Fred folded up the letter and tucked it back into his pocket before turning his attention more on the food he had been previously neglecting. 'Not in detail, I just mentioned that we were going to do something.'

James nodded. He pinched a piece of roast potato from Fred's plate and munched upon it contently, ignoring the various stares he was attracting from several fifth-year girls since his cousin Roxanne wasn't around to police them. Several of them had been at Quidditch tryouts, but none successful; most had probably received Ds, Ps, or Ts in their first-year flying lessons, considering the amount of time they had spent giggling and flailing about.

'So, are things progressing with _You-Know-Who_?'

Fred rolled his eyes. '_Voldemort_,' he said extravagantly, 'hasn't reciprocated my romantic feelings in the slightest. Seems like she can't even be bothered giving me the time of day.'

'That's ridiculous,' James told him, 'you're best mates, aren't you? She's got to talk to you sometime.'

'I don't know—all she seems interested in doing is running off with Molly and going on about Merlin knows what.'

James leaned away from his plate, folding his arms and looking contemplative. 'Well, she's a girl, isn't she? That's what they do.'

'Cordelia doesn't seem to,' Fred grumbled, taking a bitter sip of his pumpkin juice.

The Head Boy shrugged. 'Cordelia's a special case.'

The two of them sighed simultaneously. Barbara was going to require some hard work to sway.

_**November 3**_

Elena Finnigan's eyes travelled over the common room; Gryffindors were scattered about, doing this, that, and whatever else. A few first-years in the corner were talking about the Quidditch Cup, a gaggle of third-year girls were bent over a _Daily Prophet_, the pages open to something that involved James Potter and his girlfriend; Roxanne and Lily were talking strategic plays by the window, and Fred and Barbara—the people Elena was really focused on—were chatting away in front of the fire, looking quite humorous and rather involved. If she didn't know Barbara better, she would have thought the Head Girl was going out with Fred Weasley, and had been for some time. But, alas, that was not the case.

'Are you just as annoyed by that as I am?' Felix Thomas asked, coming down the spiral staircase behind Elena and standing on her right. 'The constant skirting around what seems obvious to everyone else, and all.'

His attention, like hers, was focused on the pair in front of the fire. Elena nodded. 'I don't think there's a soul on Earth who hasn't noticed how they look at each other.'

'Well, you know, except _them_.'

Elena chuckled. She knew Felix and his twin sister, Jess, quite well; their fathers were the best of friends and had therefore raised their children as such. But while she saw a lot of Jess, Elena and Felix weren't terribly close when it came to being at Hogwarts. This was only the fifth conversation they had had in two months.

Not that Elena was counting, of course.

'I don't understand why _you're_ so bothered,' she told Felix. 'You're a bloke—isn't being hopelessly romantic more a woman's kind of folly?'

He shrugged. 'If they get together, he might stop moping so much.'

Elena was nodding at this when James Potter hurried past, patted Felix on the shoulder and addressed him as "Lucky".

_**November 4**_

Albus was on his way down to the kitchens when he stumbled upon the teary-eyed Ravenclaw. Cordelia hastily wiped her cheeks dry, probably in hopes that he didn't see, but it was a little bit late for that. Deciding that being five minutes late for his meeting with Andy wouldn't hurt anyone, Albus took a seat beside her.

'Whoa, Cordelia... are you okay?'

The Ravenclaw nodded unconvincingly. 'Yeah,' she insisted, 'yeah, I'm fine.'

'You mustn't be, if you're sitting out here alone. What if Filch caught you?'

Cordelia shook her head. 'Filch never comes down here. And if he did, I'm close enough to Ravenclaw tower anyway, so I could get inside before he noticed me.' She sniffed and asked, 'why are you down here then?'

'I was just on my way to the kitchens; I was going to meet Andy there.'

Shaking her head, Cordelia told him, 'oh well, don't let me stop you. Really, I'm _fine_.' But neither the Ravenclaw nor Albus was convinced by that, for her voice cracked on the last syllable and Albus, feeling his heartstrings tighten, put a tentative arm around her.

'What happened?' he asked.

Cordelia pulled a letter out of her jacket and handed it to Albus for him to read. Trying to ignore the pounding feeling in his chest as she watched him, Albus complied.

'Oh... Merlin, Cordelia... I'm so sorry about your grandmother...'

Though he hadn't meant to make her unhappy, tears welled up in Cordelia's eyes. The silence of the moment, however, was shattered at that moment. Footsteps sounded and, like a reflex, Albus unfolded the Invisibility Cloak he had been carrying and flung it over Cordelia and himself. Had they been standing up, Filch—who came around the corner seconds later—would have seen two pairs of disembodied ankles in the darkness.

Albus, out of worry, reached a hand over and covered Cordelia's mouth to prevent her from making any kind of noise. When he was sure she wouldn't, Albus withdrew his hand. She mouthed: _You have an Invisibility Cloak?_, to which he nodded as Filch finally passed into the next corridor behind them.

'Thanks, Al,' said Cordelia, a minute or two later when they reached the entrance to Ravenclaw tower.

Albus had insisted upon taking her back to the common room before he set off to meet Andy. Cordelia responded to the bronze knocker's question quite skilfully, and then took a step inside. She turned back to face him, and she smiled. Albus counted on the warm glow emanating from the common room to hide his blushing.

'There you are, Al! Merlin, I thought you'd never turn up.'

Albus closed the door to the kitchens and sidestepped around a couple of house elves carrying stacks of bread. He hurried over to Andy and apologized for his lateness as Seamy handed him a hefty glass jug filled to the brim with butterbeer.

'Thanks, Seamy,' Albus said briefly. 'Look, I didn't mean to be so late, it's just... I ran into Cordelia, and...'

'Oh!' Andy replied. She look a little bit longer to smile than Albus would have expected, but he took a swig of butterbeer and decided not to comment. 'So, what happened? Did you _tell_ her?'

He shook his head quickly. 'Merlin—no. Of course not. She just... she was a little under the weather, that's all.'

'Under the weather this late at night?'

Albus didn't want to elaborate, so instead he asked, 'why are you so bothered?'

Sighing, perhaps out of lethargy or exasperation, Andy bit into one of the dozen banana muffins Seamy had set on the bench beside her. 'I'm not. My sister's just driving me mad.'

It sounded pretty untruthful to Albus, but he decided not to comment. He didn't want to start a row. A group of house elves shuffled between them; it took six of the creatures to carry two sacks of flour. Admittedly, these sacks were rather large, but Albus was still surprised that they elected to use manual labour. He had seen elves at work—Kreacher, though old and decrepit and a wee bit grouchy in the mornings, was as good as any other—and despite the difference between the two types of magic, the creatures could still make a sack of flour levitate with ease.

However, he decided not to ask, because you never know what might offend a house elf.

_**November 5**_

James Potter was meant to be making the trip across the lawn to his morning Herbology lesson—which he usually rather enjoyed—when several things happened at once.

Thomas Prikk, who had (to James's great enjoyment) maintained a rather stony silence since the previous Gryffindor-Slytherin game, came around the other side of the greenhouse, looking a little worse for wear. He smelled like alcohol. He also reeked of garlic, but this was a usual occurrence, and James had grown quite used to the odor.

As Prikk went to raise his wand on James—which he had decided, rather foolishly, to do—a taller, more broad-shouldered gentleman came out of the doors to the castle and frowned at the Slytherin's apparent lack of sense. Teddy Lupin disarmed him with an almost lazy flick of his wrist.

(The third thing that came into play was, in fact, an explosion coming from the general area of Hagrid's Hut, but this was only important in terms of distraction. Needless to say, all three of them _were_ quite distracted.)

'Don't live up to your name, eh?' Teddy advised, handing Prikk back his wand seemingly against his better judgment. 'And please don't try to hex James again. Leave me at least _that_ entertainment.'

Prikk grunted and hurried back inside the castle. He hadn't received high enough marks to continue Herbology in a N.E.W.T. course. Teddy grinned at James, who returned the gesture.

'I could have taken him,' James said.

'I know,' said Teddy. 'But I can't let you have all the fun, can I? Besides—I don't think you've had a detention so far this year, and hexing that moron would've made you late for Neville's class.'

He shooed James on, down the path to the necessary greenhouse and then set off to find out what Hagrid had incinerated this time.

'Sorry, Professor,' James said quickly, pulling on his goggles and sidling into place next to Wood, who had begun tending to the Bubotuber plant without his partner.

Professor Longbottom shook his head. 'A minute later and you would have been written up for it,' was all he said.

'What happened?' Wood asked, avoiding a jet of Bubotuber pus.

'Not much really,' said James as he leapt up with a jar and caught most of the yellow-green paste in it, almost expertly. 'Prikk's been having a bit of a morning booze, and Teddy showed up, so I said a quick hello to him.'

He sealed the container shut, hoping to rid himself of the Bubotuber's stench—which was much like petrol—but considering the amount of pus circulating around the room, it was no use.

Scorpius came to a halt in front of Venice Higgs, who seemed adamant that she wanted to do nothing but glare at the back of Dylan McCormick's head. The Captain rolled his eyes. His team was falling apart.

Venice was so angry about McCormick dating Shelley Corner that she refused to comply with any of Scorpius's instructions if they involved going within fifteen feet of the boy. Prikk looked a little giddy, and as Caladora Goyle's friends had mentioned in the common room so many days ago: he had found a way to sneak alcohol into the school. Gordon Rourke seemed to have bought into it as well. Scorpius was disgusted enough with the both of them that he was at the point of asking Professor Slughorn to have them removed from the team.

The only players he could really count on were Tim Vaisey and Scott Bole; both of whom were in third year and too young to be bothered with romance or vices. Scorpius sent them to the changing rooms while he kept the rest of the players back for a talk.

'What's this about, Malfoy?'

Scorpius's gaze hardened. 'I'm not impressed with how this team's been flying. No wonder we lost to Gryffindor. We failed to get more than one goal even _after_ they lost their Keeper. None of you seem to be taking this seriously anymore. I'm sick and tired of having to constantly reschedule practices because you lot won't do what you're told!'

'Don't have a hissy fit, Malfoy,' muttered Gordon Rourke. 'It's not like you've got anything to worry about except catching that little golden ball—and you couldn't even do _that_ without turning into a ballerina! Tennant falls? You try to stop her from getting hurt.'

'I don't think it's our fault,' said McCormick. 'You need to pick up some slack, too.'

'He's not the only one,' Venice snapped, folding her arms and not ceasing to glare at her fellow Chaser.

'_Whatever the problem is_,' Scorpius cut across them. 'We've got to figure it out! Our next game is a couple of weeks away, and it's against Hufflepuff.'

Venice smirked. 'Then we've got nothing to worry about.'

Scorpius simply rolled his eyes.

_**November 6 & 7**_

With no Quidditch game, the weekend felt rather long and uneventful. There was really only so much a large group of teenagers could do in Hogsmeade. A majority of the older students decided to stay at the castle and get ahead on homework—indeed, James and the other "Marauders" stayed, but not to finish assignments: their Christmas scheme was going to require extreme planning—but the third- through fifth-years, the more dominant of the students in Hogsmeade that day, did not find it any less enjoyable.

Cordelia intended to spend Saturday exploring whatever else there was to do in Hogsmeade, but she bumped into Albus and Louis, and then into Andy, and then into Patricia and Scorpius, so the large group of them took up a booth in The Three Broomsticks and quite enjoyed the company.

Albus and Scorpius found that they did get on quite well, and left the pub on friendly terms—they _were_ Peps and Rocky, after all. Andy spent the time either joking around or looking between Albus and Cordelia, hoping that her slight jealousy didn't show. Louis and Patricia discussed how they would rather live a more relaxed lifestyle after finishing Hogwarts. In fact, a brighter, more miscellaneous bunch couldn't have been found anywhere.

Sunday was a blur. There was little to do but laze around and finish essays, which was a combination that didn't really hold together too well. Shelley snogged, Rose read, James joked, Andy ate. (Though not entirely in that order.)


	22. Salt and Pepper

**Disclaimer: **This belongs to a woman who did the best she could with the talent she had. And no, I don't mean me.

**AN:** It's 12:30am on the 29th! Here I go!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

"**Salt and Pepper"**

**Or**

"**Despite the Fact it's Been Two Weeks, James's Nicknames are Still Questionable".**

* * *

_**November 8**_

* * *

Nobody was happy with Shelley Corner. She knew it—men were disappointed, and ladies had never liked her in the first place. But McCormick was convincing at pretending that he loved her; so at least when the little, gossipy first-year girls muttered, 'that's the one I was telling you about,' with their fingers pointing at Shelley, the Slytherin boy was there to make sure the tale at least finished with a proper decent ending.

'Hi, Cordelia!' Shelley said brightly, catching her housemate on the stairs and waving enthusiastically as though she hadn't seen the girl in ages, even though they had just had Charms in the same room. 'I just got the most fantastic news!'

Raising her eyebrows, Cordelia asked, 'did you, now?' She paused and then enquired as to what that might be.

'Dylan said "I love you", silly!' Shelley said this, pretending to be oblivious to the fact that there were little Slytherins all around them and Venice Higgs would probably hear within five minutes. She smiled at Cordelia, the maraschino shade of lipstick applied making her teeth look like pearls.

'Oh,' said Cordelia, 'is that so? Well, congratulations,' she added courteously, even leaning down to give the shorter girl somewhat of a hug. She was probably smart enough to know something was up, but she didn't quite want to voice her concerns as far as Shelley knew.

The brunette blushed. 'Thanks! I mean—I wasn't even expecting it! We were taking a walk around the Black Lake at lunchtime—well, actually, we were doing a bit more than walking,' she admitted girlishly, giggling. 'But then he looked me in the eye and said those three magical words... oh, isn't it the best?'

Cordelia nodded. 'It's wonderful.'

'Have you and James said it yet?' Shelley asked, unable to help herself.

Cordelia shook her head. 'Not just yet.'

'Oh, well that's too bad—but I wouldn't worry if I were you; James seems like the sort of bloke who'd only say it when he was absolutely sure the relationship was perfect: like, he'd wait to say it, you know?'

Cordelia nodded, looking a bit uncomfortable. Her eyes roamed around the area quickly, but didn't seem to find the person she was looking for.

'Sorry, Shelley,' she said, 'but I've got to go to Ancient Runes.'

Shelley nodded. 'All right! Bye, Cordelia!'

And as the tall Quidditch Captain departed, so did several other girls, one of whom Shelley heard muttering, 'I've got to find Venice!'

* * *

Lucy didn't enjoy watching boys flirt with Lily. She felt pale, plain, by comparison. It didn't bother her that she _was_ pale and plain, but having boys constantly remind her of it by their lack of attention was a bit disconcerting. She watched, frowning slightly, as Jeremy Peakes sprouted joke after joke and then proceeded to compliment Lily on her Quidditch skills.

"Number Three"—as James had dubbed his sister—had two siblings, who were both boys. This counted for multiple things, a couple of which were the fact that she always knew what tactics the opposite gender would use when trying to get her attention, and there were always going to be two older, more intimidating males (three, if Teddy was in the picture) in Lily's life trying to keep everyone else away from their little sister.

According to Lily, the second was both a blessing and a curse.

Lucy watched her cousin thank Jeremy, who was sitting a row behind and to the right, before turning back to concentrating once more on the lesson.

'He fancies you,' Lucy muttered, elbowing Lily in the side playfully.

Lily sighed. 'No, he doesn't. He fancies my last name.'

'Don't pretend you wouldn't go out with him if he asked.'

'Don't pretend you don't know James would probably rip him apart and eat his innards if he came within a two foot radius,' Lily corrected, mimicking her cousin's tone.

Lucy contemplated it. She may not have had any blokes asking about her, but at least Molly didn't want to interrogate anyone who showed the slightest attention. (But then again, what would Molly know anyway? Her boyfriend's face looked like the flat underside of a saucepan. Emphasis on the "flat".)

* * *

'More like he loves the way she works her mouth!' Venice corrected, laughing coldly.

Patricia's tolerance of the girl was wearing thin. Soon she would be seeking out the company of Kathryn in place of the Slytherin Chaser—and worse: she would prefer it. But for now she sat content on the top of her four-poster bed while she, Ruby, and—yes, Kathryn—watched Venice pace angrily around the room.

'I mean, really,' she said with loathing, '"love"? He _loves_ her? After how bloody long? A fortnight of being together?'

'Not that you're counting,' muttered Kathryn.

For once, Patricia agreed. She rolled over and decided that Venice looked just as insane upside-down. Knowing she would feel ill when she righted herself, Patricia remained looking at the world from the extreme slant, and was struck by the sudden wish to walk on the ceiling and look up at the carpeted floor. Perhaps she was, in her own right, just as loopy as Venice.

'You and Scorpius haven't said "I love you", have you?' Venice demanded suddenly.

Patricia replied, 'no.'

'And you've been together how long?'

'Only about a week longer than McCormick and Corner,' she reasoned.

Venice, unsatisfied with this answer, waved her arms to show it didn't matter. 'Bah, you two have been in love since forever—why do I care?'

'Why _do_ you care?' Ruby muttered against her duvet, and thankfully Venice didn't notice.

Patricia clambered off her bed, thinking solely of the fact that she needed to escape the constant blabbering and annoyance. It was past dinnertime, so she couldn't use that for an excuse, but Scorpius was probably in the common room escaping _his_ roommates and devising strategies for Quidditch plays, so she checked her hair in the mirror and said she wanted to see him. (Or, rather, as this did end up happening: snog him.)

* * *

_**November 9**_

* * *

'The _Prophet_ should get some new stories,' Albus said, dropping the newspaper down onto the table in front of him. Once again, James and Cordelia were among the headlines.

His brother leaned over the table and took the newspaper to read for himself. James rolled his eyes and nodded at Albus. 'You know, Peps,' he said, 'for once, I agree with you. I mean, what's up with that? I wasn't mentioned as "devilishly handsome" or anything—not once! That's a typing error, that is.'

_He can only be human for a short time_, thought Albus, _before he turns back into the pompous arse everyone knows and loves. I don't know what Cordelia sees in him._

Roxanne took the vacant seat beside Wood and began buttering herself some toast. She didn't say a word to anyone, but must have done something of discomfort, because the Keeper went a little tense momentarily. Albus dismissed this as just Wood being a tosspot and returned his attention to the stray baked beans he hadn't quite gotten round to yet.

A brown owl dropped a letter down at the table in front of them. James fished it out of the bowl of boysenberry jam before it could get too soggy, and then handed it rather unenthusiastically to the "Christopher Wood" on his immediate right, to whom it had been addressed.

'Who's it from?' Roxanne asked.

Wood's eyes trailed over the letter and began to smile. 'Puddlemere United. They say they're looking to take on a new Keeper—they haven't had a longstanding one since my dad played! They're sending scouts up,' he said gleefully, 'like the Arrows are for James!'

James grinned and clapped his friend on the back. Albus high-fived him at his good fortune and Roxanne gave him a quick squeeze, though neither looked at each other afterwards. Even though it was an odd thought process, Albus was now worrying about disappointing people when the scouts came: sure, it was not him they were coming to scout, but if he made a fool in front of everyone... well, his mother had played Quidditch for a national team, and his father could have done the same (if he hadn't been fighting Voldemort and other dark forces). Plus, his brother was about to—probably—be taken on by the Appleby Arrows.

That seemed to have become a constant worry of Albus's: being a disappointment.

He wasn't quite sure where it stemmed from.

Fred and Barbara approached and asked what was making Wood look to so cheery. He practically shoved the letter up their noses in excitement.

Barbara broke into a grin. 'Oh, Chris, it's fantastic!'

'I'm only being _scouted_, though,' Wood reminded. 'Doesn't mean I've got myself a place or anything.'

Fred shook his head. 'You're as good as in, mate; no one's going to find a Keeper like you any time soon.'

Wood looked so pleased that he could have actually cried. Albus chose this moment to excuse himself, for he had been at the previous Quidditch Cup finals and had witnessed firsthand the power of a sobbing, proud Wood; something he was not eager to experience once more, especially not over breakfast.

* * *

_**November 10**_

* * *

Unable to concentrate in the crowded common room, Molly closed her History of Magic textbook and looked around in exasperation. She organized her papers into an orderly pile and picked them up, dodging a Canary Cream that rocketed across the room as a third-year girl slapped it away from her friend's mouth.

Molly sighed. Hogwarts was practically teeming with Weasley products these days—it was a wonder that the house elves hadn't been fooled into putting any on offer in the Great Hall. She pondered how hilarious it would be if some unfortunate Slytherin suddenly sprouted feathers as she climbed out of the portrait hole and made her way to the library, where it would surely be quieter.

She passed Scorpius Malfoy and his pretty brunette girlfriend, who were on the topic of wizard etymology, and met Will Bowen's eyes as she narrowly avoided crashing into him. His attention was obviously elsewhere. Rose said a quick 'hello' as she hurried by, and then finally Molly arrived at the large, arching doors of the Hogwarts library.

Finding a quiet desk beside the window, Molly quickly set up her workstation. The view was quite nice, looking out over the grounds, where people the size of ants were making their way into and out of the castle.

When she finished her work half an hour later and went to look out the window, the sky was a deep shade of rouge, splashed with gold and peach; the sun was setting, and Molly packed up her things, deciding that it would be faster to go down to dinner from the library than to return to Gryffindor tower.

'Molls!'

Turning around at the sound of her boyfriend's voice, she greeted, 'hey, Archie!'

'How are things?' The Beater asked, placing an arm around her shoulders and a kiss on her cheek.

Molly groaned. 'Tiring.'

'This N.E.W.T. workload driving you mad, then?'

She nodded bitterly and stepped momentarily behind her boyfriend so to avoid colliding with a couple of chattering first-years.

'It's all right,' Archie reassured her. 'I swear, half of my house's about to pitch themselves off the Astronomy tower. None of us have had a decent night's sleep since September.'

Molly pointed at him and nodded, as if to agree with her boyfriend's claim.

They descended down two flights of stairs in silence. Molly enjoyed the company, and as her eyes skittered to observe the people around her, she thought about how her cousins had miscalculated her boyfriend—judged him too early. However flat-faced he may or may not have been, Archie was supportive, and being with him was like a breath of fresh air. Sure, they had been together less than six months—their first date had been the last Hogsmeade weekend of Molly's sixth year—but it felt like an eternity to her. The good kind.

'I suppose it'll all pay off when we finish our N.E.W.T.s,' Archie reasoned.

'Yeah,' said Molly, 'but then we'll have Ministry training and clerking for whatever company it is that wants us to work for them.'

'The Department of Magic Law Enforcement will be lucky to have you; trust me.'

'You have to say that; you're my boyfriend.'

Archie shrugged. 'If I didn't mean it, I would've just said something vague about your intelligence.'

Molly considered it. 'Well, in that case, thank you for being honest.'

* * *

_**November 11**_

* * *

Andy sighed. She didn't understand boys. You could be sitting there, being the best friend you could be, making yourself perfectly available—and in the end, they would still be in love with a girl they could never have.

Teddy Lupin was sitting up at the teachers' table, turning his features into something that Professor Dryden, who taught Arithmancy and was therefore intelligent _and_ admittedly attractive—for he was rather young, really, found hilarious.

Jenna was safely down the other end of the Hufflepuff table, and therefore she couldn't bother Andy for finding either of the gentlemen handsome, even though her attention belonged solely to someone else. Andy was grateful for this, even though she didn't really have anyone to talk to at this point in time. But she didn't mind terribly.

Andy's eyes moved from the Professors' table, across the room to where the Gryffindors sat. There, roughly ten feet apart, surrounded by two completely different groups of people, both Potter brothers had their attention set on the Ravenclaw table. Well, in particular, _a_ Ravenclaw. But, of course, Cordelia Gilbert was too perfect to notice. She was deep in conversation with Bridget Davies.

Returning her gaze to the Potters, Andy watched Louis nudge Albus with his elbow. The boy's reverie was shattered and he quickly returned to his dinner, blushing slightly because he had been caught. Andy chuckled, though it was all she could do to conceal the urge she felt to collapse onto the Great Hall's stone floor, rolling around and sobbing uncontrollably.

Trying to remain calm, Andy suffered through the rest of dinner, thankful for not being spoken to because it might have led her to admit something she may have regretted. (Like the fact she was falling apart on the inside, even though she wasn't really sure why.)

* * *

_**November 12**_

* * *

'You doing all right?'

Cordelia nodded. It was sweet of Albus to keep checking in on her; she hadn't had another sobbing session since the night they'd met on the stairs, but it was reassuring to know that someone cared.

'That's good,' said Albus, opening his copy of _New Theory of Numerology_ and flicking through the pages in search of something that would help them in their current Arithmancy task. 'Because—you know—if ever you need someone, and James is being too fat-headed a git to help you out...'

Cordelia laughed. 'Thanks, Al—and, you know, if you ever need any advice on how to proceed with this girl of yours,' she added, 'I'd be happy to oblige.'

He nodded, looking a little contrary for a moment though Cordelia wasn't really sure why, and said, 'I'll keep that in mind.'

Scorpius, who was sitting in the row beside them, leaned over to speak to Albus and Cordelia. 'Thank Merlin it's Friday,' he said lethargically. 'This week's dragged on forever.'

Cordelia, not meaning to lean across Albus but being unable to stop herself from doing so as she spoke, asked: 'How's Quidditch practice going, then? Is your team still annoyingly complacent?'

Scorpius—who was obviously irritated by the other Slytherins' laziness—nodded. 'It's pathetic,' he told them. 'It doesn't matter if we're playing _Hufflepuff_ next week, and everyone thinks it'll be an easy game...' He faded off, looking pessimistic. 'Imagine what everyone'll think if _I'm_ the Captain that puts Slytherin in last place for the first time in over a hundred years, because my bloody team won't cooperate!'

Albus shook his head. 'You won't be,' he said surely. 'Clarke's got about ten functioning brain cells, and I'm pretty sure Fred knocked half of those out when he punched him in the face.'

Scorpius and Cordelia both chuckled. The Ravenclaw thought the two boys made for quite good friends.

_ Well_, she supposed, _they are_ _Salt and Pepper_.

* * *

Roxanne swung the Beater's bat and it struck the Bludger with a good amount of force, sending the ball flying across the other side of the pitch, safely away from Lily. The fourth-year wove in amongst the stands and, all of a sudden, shot up to receive the Quaffle as Albus passed it her way. Lily zipped down the pitch; the Quaffle tucked her under arm.

At the last moment, she flung it to James, who had closed in beside her and who lobbed it through the right goalpost. It grazed Wood's fingers but passed safely through the hoop, where it was collected by Albus and sent back down the pitch so they could run the drill again.

Jess and Felix Thomas sat together down in the stands, watching the practice pan out above them. They were joined by a rather cocky-looking Kane McLaggen, who told them he had just come from applying for the commentator's job, and would be overseeing the upcoming Slytherin-Hufflepuff match. Both Thomases pretended to be interested.

'I wouldn't have chosen Lily for a Chaser,' McLaggen said, sounding pompous. 'She seems more like a Seeker to me.'

Felix, who had been called to the Burrow a couple of times to fill in for a cousin who couldn't make it to one of the Weasley Quidditch matches, replied: 'She plays Seeker at home, but she knows it's Barbara's job at school. Next year I think she'll try out, though.'

McLaggen nodded. 'If you ask me, she could probably play it better than Tennant—she's got much more the physique for it.'

Jess rolled her eyes. 'Do you spend much time observing Lily's "physique", then?' she asked coldly as Fred belted a Bludger away from Barbara in the air above them.

'I don't think I've talked to one bloke who hasn't, at one time or another,' said McLaggen, somehow filling both Jess and Felix with the sudden desire to punch him in the face.

Felix decided as Roxanne flew by that this would probably be a kind alternative to leaving the pig alone with James and Albus if they found out what he had just said about their sister. Lily was fourteen; the thought of blokes around sixteen or seventeen checking her out was a bit disconcerting, to say the least.

'Are you always this much of a pig?' Jess enquired, moving away slowly and pulling her brother to do the same as she noticed Roxanne aiming a Bludger in McLaggen's direction. She had obviously flown close enough to hear what he had said about blokes checking Lily out.

The Bludger found its mark and bits of the wooden stands flew out in all directions. Barbara paused in her pursuit of the Golden Snitch to find the source of the noise, almost crashing into a laughing Fred as she did so. Wood high-fixed Roxanne and James and Albus looked unforgiving as Roxanne told them the reasoning behind her attack. Lily just seemed disgusted.

'Good job, Roxanne!' Jess called and Felix gave the Beater two thumbs up before going over to try and move McLaggen out of the wreckage. It had to be repaired before anyone noticed and gave Roxanne detention.

* * *

_**November 13**_

* * *

The Hogsmeade trip was unofficially cancelled that Saturday, or it could have been for the lack of people that went. Instead, many of the students stayed inside, trying to get ahead on homework or doing something else just as menial and boring. The exception to this was the Slytherin Quidditch team who were trying to have a proper practice, despite the many players who didn't seem to care; at the completion of the hour, an irate Scorpius Malfoy was seen stomping into the Entrance Hall, covered in mud and cursing under his breath.

Peeves took this opportunity—as he did any, for people under stress were his favourite to annoy—to poke fun at the Slytherin, following him around hollering at the top of his lungs. '_Slytherin house has no right to be coy, they're sure to fail when led by Malfoy_!'

As expected, this did nothing to improve the young Captain's mood, and he stormed down to the Slytherin common room with a foul-tempered scowl stretched across his usually handsome face.

At dinner that night, Professor Sprout announced that the final trip to Hogsmeade before the Christmas holidays would be taken the week after next, and that the Hufflepuff-Slytherin game was scheduled for the week after that. There would be no trips, and only one Quidditch game, in December. After the dessert course was finished, the students departed for their common rooms rather tiredly, some probably regretting not making the trip to Hogsmeade earlier that day.

In Gryffindor common room, James and Fred hosted a festival of Weasley products, which the younger students watched with an attitude similar to hero worship, and which carried on until about ten o'clock that evening, when Barbara shuffled down from her dormitory in a dressing gown and insisted the fireworks desist.

At the same time, down in the dungeons, Scorpius was complaining to Patricia about the complacency of his team. When she retired to her room, Venice sprouted complaints about McCormick's relationship with Shelley, even though she apparently didn't care in the slightest. Patricia finally got to bed around midnight, but even that was disturbed, for Kathryn insisted on having her bedside lamp on so she could write a letter to her mother—which would have been received with much less swearing had she done it on Sunday morning.

* * *

_**November 14**_

* * *

Sunday came even more slowly, and affirmed many peoples' regret that they hadn't left the grounds for a Hogsmeade trip. Hufflepuff had booked the pitch for a Quidditch practice, and Jenna insisted on dragging Andy along so that she could get out of the kitchens—and out of the company of Seamy the house elf, as well as his colleagues—even though the girl really didn't want to be known for spending copious amounts of time with her little sister.

Cordelia took up coop in the library, her work spreading over three desks, but this only lasted until lunchtime, when James showed up and insisted upon distracting her with his many charms. Albus looked on furtively until Louis pulled out _Hogwarts: A History_ and forced him to busy himself with something else.

Shelley paraded around and made a show of cuddling into McCormick affectionately whenever they got within visual distance of any other sixth-year student, pulling him in for multiple lingering kisses if Venice walked by. The mission wasn't entirely a success, though, because it earned the couple quite a few judgmental looks and a piece of advice from Professor Longbottom that, perhaps, they shouldn't be so public with their relationship.

Lottie and Melissa insisted upon going outside and enjoying the weather, even though Liz and Rose would much rather have stayed inside and finished the mountainous workload that had been assigned to them. Both girls were dragged outside and stayed there unwillingly, while Lottie promised Rose that something good would happen as she waved at the male seventh-year Ravenclaws across the shores of the Lake.

It just goes to show that, however mediocre, the days don't cease to roll into existence and then into oblivion, and life never comes to a stop for anyone while they've still got a purpose to serve.


	23. Carrying Through November

**Disclaimer:** Here's to J.K. Rowling!

**AN:** It's not been a day and I'm about to start my fourth chapter without internet. I'd like to thank Brett Dennen's CD "Loverboy" for being the only tolerable music on my mum's computer and therefore setting the tone of this chapter. (Check the blog if you're looking for explanations on any of the nicknames, by the way!)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

"**Carrying Through November"**

**Or**

"**It's About Time!".**

* * *

_**November 15**_

* * *

Storm clouds rolled in with Monday morning. It was raining by lunchtime; the torches in the corridors were lit, and the ceiling of the Great Hall was dark, despite it only being midday. The path to the greenhouses was muddy and treacherous, and it seemed to play to Albus's already miserable luck that it was to Herbology that he and the other N.E.W.T. sixth-years retired for his first afternoon lesson.

'Just wipe it off outside, if you can,' called Professor Longbottom. '_Tergeo_ might do the trick!'

Following his instructions, the students took out their wands, muttered the incantation and began siphoning the dirt and mud off of their shoes and—in the case of Louis—where it had splattered up onto their clothes.

Three minutes later, when they were all cleaned up, Professor Longbottom set them to work on a task that seemed far easier than their previous assignments and which Albus breezed through, considering the reading he had done ahead-of-time. His thoughts remained elsewhere: on what he planned to do after Hogwarts, how on earth he was going to pass his N.E.W.T.s, and a much less significant matter: the Quidditch practice that was scheduled in the only free time between Hufflepuff and Slytherin, at five o'clock that evening.

'Pass me the pliers, Al?' asked Louis towards the end of the class.

Albus dodged a flying piece of plant tissue and tried to get past the intense smell of vanilla mixed with celery and old car exhaust as he complied. Taking the pliers, Louis hacked away at his plant—having not seen how to splice it when Albus had done so about twenty minutes earlier—until the lesson adjourned and Neville—at this point, Al gave up on formality inside his own head and instead began to address the Professor as he knew him more personally—set them an essay.

'One full roll of parchment,' Neville instructed. 'Describe the different properties the plant possesses, talk about visual clues—you're guaranteed good marks if you search the textbook for possible uses and include them in your report,' he advised, before sending them on their way.

* * *

Rose smiled to herself as she watched Lottie spread her assignments out over her entire bed. It hardly seemed like the same girl who had laughed at the idea of having a lesson off and using it to _work_. Perhaps that was just what school did to people.

Lottie began thundering away at some kind of star-chart for Divination. After a bare minute of silence, she looked up at Rose and said, 'do you wish you hadn't done it?'

'Done what?' Rose asked, confused. She had a pretty good idea of what Lottie was trying to get at, but she didn't want to voice it in case her friend was going in a complete different direction.

It transpired that what they were thinking of was one in the same. 'Gone out with Scorpius,' Lottie clarified, returning her eyes to the star-chart and beginning to circle different constellations.

Rose set down her quill, for she had been trying to get started on the Herbology essay she had been set the lesson before, and said, 'We didn't really "go out". We snuck around, but honestly, that was like a completely different person.'

'Bet you didn't think you'd be getting punched in the face when you first snogged him, eh?'

Rose threw one of her pillows at Lottie. She laughed when it hit her shoulder and lobbed it back, trying to recover the star-chart in front of her from a splotch of ink that had spilled on its corner.

Watching Lottie clean the mess up with her wand, Rose let herself think rationally about what had happened—well, her being punched, mostly—in September, with Scorpius. He and Patricia, who Rose admitted _did_ pack a good punch, were dating now. They had been for a little while. But this didn't hurt Rose's feelings, really; she had never been adamant on fancying Scorpius.

What a ridiculous thought! Her father had been warning Rose against him since before they ever even met; perhaps them being together had been an act of rebelliousness. But she wasn't about to make her slim feelings into something they weren't. They came from completely different families, different lifestyles—when she thought about it logically, they barely even knew each other—and that wasn't the sort of person Rose ever considered falling in love with.

Not that Rose knew anything about love, of course.

She hoped that, when it did happen, she fell for someone who cared about her, who would stand up for her against anyone who thought wrongly—she had only come across one or two odd people like that who weren't a relative of some sort.

(And as vast as the Weasley family tree was, Rose didn't fancy marrying one of her cousins.)

* * *

_**November 16**_

* * *

The sky hadn't lightened since the previous day, and the weather remained just as—if not more—overcast. Scorpius had tried three times to venture out onto the Quidditch pitch, only to find that the raining had resumed once he got out of the changing room. As a result, he was more frustrated with his chances than ever. Patricia and Ruby had come down with the intent of watching what remained of the practice, but instead they found Scorpius sitting on the ground at the entrance to the stands, his eyes just as stormy as the clouds looming omnipotent above them.

'We can talk to Venice about getting a grip if you'd like.'

'I've been wanting to for a while, so it's not any trouble,' Ruby said quickly.

Scorpius nodded, standing up and brushing himself off. 'If I can get her sorted out, McCormick won't be giving me any problems. And Bole's a good enough Beater to cancel out Prikk's stupidity—hell, he could do twice as much with a blindfold on.'

'And really,' said Patricia, 'who gives a damn about Rourke, anyway? He's an arse and everyone knows it, so it's not like anyone'll blame you.'

'You know, unless you fumble the Snitch or something stupid like that,' Ruby pointed out, quieting herself with a nod when Patricia sent a discouraging glare in her direction. She stepped back a bit and said, 'I'll just be leaving you two alone...'

Her footsteps echoed behind them as Patricia put an arm around Scorpius. It wasn't easily done, because he was so much taller than she was, but the gesture got his attention nevertheless. Patricia forced him to look her in the eye and she told him, 'Look. Stiff upper lip, eh? No one likes pity parties—especially if the person throwing them is the one feeling inadequate.'

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. 'What happened to being all dramatic and encouraging?'

'I decided it was time to cut the crap,' Patricia said, beginning to drag him with her back to the common room.

'Am I not even going to get a snog out of this?' Scorpius protested.

Patricia rolled her eyes and pulled him by the front of his shirt down to meet her. Time seemed to go numb—which was a statement strange in itself: how could "time" feel?—and somehow Patricia ended up against the tunnel wall with Scorpius standing over her. Her arms wove around his neck, pressing him in closer, until she pulled away and broke into a smile.

'Is wittle Scowpius all wight now?' she joked.

He groaned. 'You always cut these things short, don't you?'

Patricia looked up at him through her eyelashes (She hadn't ever really understood the expression until this point in time). 'I don't _have_ to...'

'That's more like it.'

* * *

Barbara needed to stop making a habit of holing herself up in the Head Girl's room by herself. She didn't want company, but she hated how distant everything seemed when she was up there, even though Molly and the others were only a bit below. Was it possible James felt this way—disconnected? No, that was a stupid thought; he was _James_ for crying out loud! If it wasn't sadness, happiness, amusement, anger or love, James probably didn't feel it.

'Fred,' Barbara felt herself begin to call out. She slapped a hand over her mouth, because she wasn't even sure why she had said it. She hadn't been calling his name out of lovesickness or anything like that—it was the kind of shout you did down the stairs at home when you wanted to talk to someone in a different room.

There was the clatter of feet coming up the stairs and Barbara lunged over to her bed and pulled a book from the bedside in an effort to look busy. She had barely opened a page when Elena and Jess burst into the room.

'What happened to knocking?' Barbara asked, pretending to have been reading. She closed the book and set it aside.

Jess and Elena looked at her as if to say, _don't try and lie to us_.

'We heard a very familiar name called,' Elena began, her tone light.

'Couldn't help but wonder if it was a dramatic realization of one's love for the good old best friend,' Jess said in a continuation of Elena's thought.

Barbara rolled her eyes. 'That sort of thing only happens in stories,' she said pointedly.

'Come on!' Jess said, sounding impatient. She came to sit down beside Barbara while Elena roamed around the room, looking at the view from the window and ferreting through the papers on top of the Head Girl's set of drawers. 'You've had seven years! Can't you come to a mad, cliché conclusion now? Because, I tell you; if you don't wake up and smell the roses, someone else will have already snatched him up. And by someone, I mean me,' she added quickly, 'because I wouldn't mind a little—'

'—Jess!' Elena reprimanded.

'Sorry,' said Jess, 'that wasn't helping our argument.'

'There really shouldn't _be_ an argument,' Barbara insisted. 'I either fancy Fred or I don't.'

'_Do_ you?' Elena pressed.

Barbara sighed. 'Do you expect a straight answer?'

Elena began fishing through a stack of letters on the Head Girl's bedside table. 'Why can't you just make a proper decision? I mean, how hard—wait, why have you kept these letters? They're all from over the summer, and they're all from _Fred_.'

'Get out of it!' said Barbara indignantly, lunging over the bed and snatching the letters out of Elena's grasp. Jess raised her eyebrows.

'Point proven,' she said, 'why would you keep them if you didn't fancy him?'

'Why wouldn't I? Don't you?'

'Yeah,' Jess admitted, 'but I don't keep them beside my bed!'

'You should check under her pillow,' Elena advised, smirking slightly. 'There might be a picture of the two of them there. "Mrs. Barbara Weasley",' she teased dreamily.

Barbara glared at them both. 'If you're just going to taunt me, I'll stop letting you in.'

'You _wouldn't_!'

'What's stopping you, anyway?' Elena asked seriously.

The Head Girl stood and moved to stand by the window. There wasn't much of a view, for the sky was dark and the grounds mere shadows below. 'I'd just like to hear it from _him_,' she settled, though her mind could think of many other things she would have liked to hear from Fred Weasley. 'I'm sick of it from everyone else.'

* * *

_**November 17**_

* * *

Gryffindor common room was empty that morning, with the exception of only the three Potter siblings. James was lazing about in his favourite seat in front of the fire. Albus sat opposite him. Lily wasn't really meant to be there at all, but she was at one of the tables on the other side of the room, so James had let her stay. It was a little bit past when breakfast usually began, and Albus didn't appreciate his brother holding him up—especially when food was involved—but James had insisted it was important.

'What is it then?' Albus asked tersely.

'No need to be so harsh, dear Peps,' said James, his tone calm. He raised his arms in suggested surrender, then muttered to himself, 'I should've just called you Snaps.'

'Very funny.'

James thought it best to dive into the subject, as he did for most things in his life. 'I've heard a few things about you fancying some bird. True, false?'

Watching Albus go rigid with nerves, James continued. 'I'll take that as a "yes". In case you're wondering about where I got my information, I heard it being muttered by some bushy-haired Hufflepuff on my way to Charms yesterday.'

'How much did you hear?' Albus asked meekly.

Cocking his chin, James enquired, 'How long have you fancied my girlfriend?'

All the colour drained from Albus's face. It looked to James like he was doing some very quick thinking; something Al was rather gifted at, and therefore the Head Boy didn't let him finish.

'Answer the question, Peps.'

Albus sighed, looking absolutely miserable and, for some reason, rather chilly. 'Er—couple of months? But she wasn't your girlfriend when I—'

'—did you know I fancied her?'

His fingers shaking, Albus muttered, 'well, you _were_ quite vocal about it.'

Both boys, at this point, had forgotten their sister was in the room.

'Then why did you let yourself develop feelings for her?' James stood from his chair and looked down at Albus. His tone was no longer calm; it was fast approaching anger. 'Surely you would've thought "hey, James really likes that girl, perhaps I should lay off and let him have this one"—'

'—_let you have this one_?' Albus cried, outraged. He, too, got to his feet. 'You get _every_ girl, James! And,' he added furiously, 'in case you haven't noticed, I never tried to get anywhere! I stayed a friend; I didn't try to push it! I could have, you know! I've had countless opportunities—like two weeks ago, when I found her _crying_ in a corridor, all by herself! Where were you _then_, James? Do you _know_ her grandmother's dying?'

'Of course I bloody well know!' James shouted, his look blazing. 'Do you think _you're_ the first person she went to—the first person who found and comforted her? _No_, of course you weren't, _Al_—'

'—don't you dare "Al" me right now!'

'—I'm Cordelia's _boyfriend_!' James bellowed. 'And I think I love her. I really, really do. But of course—I'm the bad guy here, aren't I?' Now he almost sounded closer to tears than violence. 'Because dear, _perfect_ Albus didn't try to lay a finger on Cordelia anyway. Because he was, once more, the star child! Fantastic Albus Severus!'

The Head Boy's voice sounded restricted, strangled. He and Albus were just staring at each other, breathing heavily in the silence that followed. Finally, it was James again who spoke.

'You should've told me.'

Albus's fierce facade faltered momentarily. 'What?'

James exhaled deeply. 'You should've told me,' he said again. 'I know that it probably would've just made me want to punch you, but at least I would've known.'

'Would it have stopped you going after her?' Albus asked quietly, though he sounded like he knew what would follow.

'I'm too much of a stubborn git for that kind of heroism,' said James. 'But there was always a chance.'

Albus shook his head. 'This is all going to sound pretty dramatic,' he warned, 'but from what I know, relationships are supposed to be about finding someone who makes _you_ a better person.' He looked up at his brother to make sure he was following so far. 'Cordelia—as much as I like her—wouldn't have changed me much. I'll admit that. Sure, I would've been happy; but you needed her.'

James raised an eyebrow. 'I'm flattered, but at the same time I'm wondering if you just called me a prick.'

'For the purpose of the argument...'

'Nah, go on.'

'Cordelia made you a better person,' Albus said. 'That's the point of a relationship, really.'

James smiled. Only he and Al could go from screaming to sentimentality. Then the Head Boy asked, 'What do I offer Cordelia, then? I'm a tosser most of the time, and she's practically perfect already, so...'

'You're definitely a tosser,' Albus told him. 'But for the sake of the argument: you're a tosser who's taller than her.'

* * *

_**November 18**_

* * *

Patricia said, 'He didn't say forever!' at the same time Ruby said, 'Have you _seen_ yourself lately? I would've kicked you off the team, too.'

Venice continued to glare at the chicken on her plate as though it had done her great personal wrong. The Slytherin table was crowded enough to obscure her angry muttering, and the cause of it was far enough away not to notice. At that moment, Scorpius sat a fair way away, talking to Andre Montague and Kimberley Harper about them taking the place of Gordon Rourke—who the girls could see also glaring at Scorpius from the end of the table—and Venice Higgs on the Quidditch team. It really shouldn't have been so much of a surprise; the two of them had been flying and _acting_ so badly over the past few weeks that there really wasn't much of an alternative. Montague and Harper had been the reserve players, but now seemed to be taking on a full shift. They flew just as well as Venice or Rourke did, but for some reason, hadn't been picked during tryouts.

'Can't you talk to him?' Venice groaned, tugging at Patricia's sleeve.

The girl pulled it out of her way and said firmly, 'No, I can't. Scorpius made this decision with the help of Professor Slughorn—me being his girlfriend doesn't change anything.'

In her efforts to avoid a fight, Patricia had left out the fact that _she_ also thought it was deserved, and instead busied herself with the potatoes on the platter in front of Ruby. Venice resumed her scowl at the chicken and said no more for the rest of the night. When the Slytherins returned to their dormitories that night, the ex-Chaser was seen jotting down a furious set of paragraphs, which Patricia assumed was a letter to her mother about being removed from the team.

'Don't expect us to feel too sorry for you,' said Ruby coldly, when Venice continued to sulk as they tried to get to sleep that night, 'you _did_ bring this on yourself.'

At this point, Venice muttered something rhyming with "witch" and turned off her bedside lamp with a certain amount of force. Kathryn giggled into her pillows.

Knowing that the peace in the room would be short-lived, Patricia tried to fall asleep as quickly as possible. She had almost managed it when there came a shriek from Kathryn's four-poster. She clambered across her bed, and then across Ruby's, to see what the damage had been.

Kathryn was writhing around on her bed, clutching at her sides. If she hadn't been forced silent, the sound out of her lips would probably have been laughter. Both Ruby and Patricia turned to Venice, who had her wand out and her mouth in a snarl. 'Be glad it wasn't anything worse than a tickling fit,' she warned. 'If any of you say _one more thing_ about me losing my spot on the team—and it's not _sympathy_ I hear—then don't expect any kind of mercy.'

* * *

_**November 19**_

* * *

Unlike many other Fridays, the one that Hogwarts experienced that week in particular, was rather slow. Classes—even those most enjoyable—seemed to drag on. Slytherin and Hufflepuff had a brief argument due to the fact they had double-booked the pitch, which resulted in both Tim Vaisey and Evan Cadwallader being sent to the hospital wing, despite the fact that it had been Miles Clarke and Scorpius Malfoy who drew their wands.

James and Albus, both still feeling a little put out after Wednesday's altercation, weren't at the top of their game in any respects—the Head Boy had been insulted three times by Thomas Prikk, and hadn't even had the energy to bother with a witty comeback, which he regarded as a low point in his life; Albus was just terrified that James, who had not so far done so, would tell Cordelia about his feelings (even though Lily had also been there, she was not under half the surveillance)—something that quite a few people noticed, but pretended not to.

Rose found out what McLaggen had said about Lily and threatened to hex him, before being immediately dragged away by Lottie, Liz, and Melissa; all three reminding her that it would not look good for one of the strongest candidates for next year's Head Girl to jinx someone for something she hadn't even witnessed in the first place.

Later that day, however, Lily _did_ strike McLaggen with a particularly well-done Bat-Bogey Hex, which proved she was her mother's daughter—proof of her father's genes became evident hours after, when she mysteriously disappeared as teachers arrived to find the culprit. (However many times McLaggen insisted that it was Lily who had cursed him, Barbara was adamant that the two have them had been talking about the Holyhead Harpies' most recent game—and, really, who wasn't going to believe the Head Girl?)

* * *

_**November 20**_

* * *

Cordelia caught up with Will Bowen in the Entrance Hall on Saturday afternoon. She had been trying to find him for quite a while, but hadn't had any luck up until that point.

'Will!' she called pleasantly.

The seventh-year paused and Cordelia hurried up to meet him.

'So,' she began, 'how are things going? You know, with the girl I gave you advice on?'

'Oh.' Will sighed, looking disappointed. 'They're nonexistent. I've talked to her all of _once_.'

'Well, you've got to start somewhere, haven't you?'

'Thanks for trying to be nice, Cordelia, but it's really no use,' said Will miserably, excusing himself as Rose and Albus entered the Entrance Hall behind James.

The Head Boy filled in the empty space Will had left in front of her and grinned down at her. 'Hey.'

'Hey yourself,' Cordelia replied.

James took a quick look around the room and then leaned in to kiss her. It was like every other time he did: fireworks, and usually it would have made Cordelia incredibly giddy if it weren't for the fact that they were in _the Entrance Hall_, and there were people everywhere—Al was over there with Rose, for crying out loud!

'What was that for?' she asked.

James raised his eyebrows. 'Must there an occasion every time I want to kiss you?'

Cordelia shook her head. 'No,' she said quickly, 'no—of course not. You just sort of... caught me off-guard, that's all.'

'If you didn't like it,' James offered, not unkindly, 'I can reverse my steps and come in again.'

She shook her head again, watching Rose head after Albus, who had at some point during Cordelia and James's conversation, made a mad dash up the stairs. Then her attention returned to her boyfriend, who—somehow—she hadn't come across all day.

* * *

_**November 21**_

* * *

Barbara and Fred were on their way back to the common room from a trip around the grounds when Barbara decided it was time to do something about the thing that was bugging her.

'How weird would you find it if you and I were to... er... go out?'

Fred jumped slightly, and he said, 'Well, it wouldn't be _too_ weird, I suppose—you know, if we fancied each other.'

Barbara felt annoyed at herself for even asking the question in the first place, but she decided that she would never get anywhere without trying, and knowing that Fred was good at concealing things, she continued: 'But what if we _did_ fancy each other? Would _that_ be odd?'

'I wouldn't blame you if you fancied me,' Fred sighed, making out as though this were a common, irresistible occurrence. 'It's pretty hard not to—I mean, look at me! I'm ravishing.'

Barbara chuckled. 'Be serious for once, please?'

'Fine,' said Fred. 'If you want an honest answer, no: I don't think it'd be odd if we fancied each other. I mean, we're best mates—no one would stick around if there wasn't something about the other person they liked.'

'But liked enough to—you know—want to snog?'

'I don't see a problem with that.'

They were alone now: all the other students had gone off in other directions, taken different paths to wherever it was they wanted to go, and the corridor in front of the two Gryffindors was completely deserted. A couple of paintings hung in the corners, but the people inside them didn't seem to be paying much attention.

'What,' Barbara asked carefully, 'constitutes the line between friendship and—and a relationship? Really?' She reached out, taking hold of Fred's arm and feeling the boy go rigid at her touch. Slowly, Barbara brush her lips against cheekbone. 'Like that,' she said, trying to sound casual. 'That's... friendly. You can use that for Aunts, brothers, sisters, _best friends_...'

Fred nodded, but the gesture was microscopic. His eyes were still on the corridor ahead of them, set kind of fuzzy. Barbara leaned forward again, this time kissing not his cheek but his jaw line, defined and strong. Fred seemed to stop breathing.

'That,' Barbara murmured, 'could be just as tame, couldn't it? I mean, it's more intimate, but not... anything binding.'

She watched him for signs of movement—though there were none, and his eyes were still focused on the vacant air in front of them—as she moved in and grazed the corner of his mouth with hers. 'That...' Barbara suddenly found herself unable to complete the thought. 'That's... it's not a...'

A few of the paintings had begun to mutter amongst themselves, but Barbara paid no attention. She had come this far—there was one more place, one more type of kiss that she hadn't dared instigate, but now she felt a burning need to. So the Head Girl stepped forward, her breathing rather shaky, and she pressed her lips to Fred's.

Suddenly, the boy in front of her was no longer the motionless automaton he had been; Fred responded with such enthusiasm that Barbara almost gave over to shock. Her arms curved around his neck, and his around her waist, and the two of them stumbled their way back against the banister that ran around one side of the corridor. Fred moved one hand from Barbara's waist to the metal pole, but it didn't lessen the force with which he kissed her, because he had a Beater's strength on his side; Barbara could hear the people in the paintings speaking quite loudly to each other but they sounded distant to her, like she was hearing them calling from the other end of a dark tunnel...

'I love you,' said Fred.

His breathing was hitched and his tone earnest, more so than she had ever heard him sound.

Realization crashed down upon Barbara like the most stalwart of waves, and she replied:

'I love you, too.'


	24. Rainy Days

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling owns the characters, and almost everything else in my life.

**AN: **Reviews are the sprinkle-topped biscuits I ate while writing the 10,000 words—and 25 pages!—of this chapter. (Any birth dates mentioned are not canon.)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

"**Rainy Days"**

**Or**

"**Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff".**

* * *

_**November 22**_

* * *

It had been raining for seven days, and every student in the population of Hogwarts had experienced the mad dash through wet sludge on the way to either Herbology or Care of Magical Creatures. The Slytherins and Hufflepuffs were getting nervous for their Quidditch game, which was scheduled for the fourth of December; another scuffle had broken out between the two houses at lunchtime.

Poor Matt Bole, the more willing to listen of Slytherin's two Beaters, had been able to avoid crossfire until that point. He was sent to Madam Pomfrey sporting a pair of rainbow-coloured eyebrows and an incredibly large front tooth.

Most people couldn't understand the reasoning behind the quarrelling. It wasn't as though it was the final of the season. However, Hufflepuffs were determined to get back at Slytherin for siding with Ravenclaw in the previous match, and Slytherins were angry because they wanted so badly not to lose.

On top of this, Slughorn had just put out invites to his annual Christmas party—which was almost a ball for the amount of people who were invited —and the corridors were swarming with people who had _not_ been invited, and were looking for dates so to earn admission.

A nervous-looking fourth-year approached Albus as he made his way to dinner and asked him to go with her, but he was so surprised that he declined immediately. The girl dashed back to her Ravenclaw friends, her bottom lip quivering. Half an hour later, Al would wonder who had really ended up with the worse end of the stick—he may have said "no" to the fourth-year, but Louis and Roxanne teased him about it all through dinner; James, who would have usually joined them, remained quiet.

* * *

'There's something you're not telling me,' James accused.

He said it quite matter-of-factly as he and Fred returned to the dormitory that night.

'What makes you say that?' Fred asked.

'Well, for one,' said James, skirting around a younger girl as they began to head up the stairs from the common room. She opened her mouth as though she were going to say something, but James—expecting it would be another of the twenty requests he had received to go Slughorn's Christmas Party—continued before she had the chance. 'You've been grinning madly at the most random of times, and the love eyes you usually stare at Barbara with have, even though I didn't think it was possible, gotten more _lovely_.'

Fred pulled off his shoes as he followed James into the dormitory. The Head Boy had his own room upstairs, but he was down at the regular one so often that it made no difference. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Felix, who had entered ahead of James and Fred, was doodling in the margins of his Astronomy homework. It was due at the beginning of that evening's lesson, but most people only had it half-completed. Finishing a stylized crescent moon, Felix paused in his drawing to partake in the cousins' conversation.

'It's true,' he said. 'James is right. You're getting pretty extreme.'

Fred sighed. 'I'm not a good liar, am I?'

'Nah,' James protested, 'you're not bad, actually. We've just known you too long.'

'So?' Felix pressed, watching James move aside to allow Wood and Quentin entrance to the room before he pushed the door closed again. 'What changed?'

'I—er—well...' Fred exhaled dreamily. 'I snogged her.'

James's eyes bugged out and Felix dropped his quill. It created splotches all over his Astronomy assignment, but in that moment, no one cared. Quentin tripped over some kind of textbook, and Wood tripped over Quentin, smacking his head against the side of Felix's four-poster.

'You did _what_?' Wood cried, helping Quentin to his feet with one hand and using the other to massage his aching forehead.

'I snogged her.'

'Really?' James yelped.

'Are you sure this wasn't a dream?' Felix asked. 'You know—because you've never had the balls before this—'

Wood reached out and hit Felix's arm in reprimanding.

'It wasn't,' said Fred. 'It wasn't a dream. We were alone in a corridor, yesterday afternoon. And I... well, actually,' he paused, thinking about it, '_she_ came onto _me_.'

The boys all scrambled from their places around the room to where Fred was standing. They crowded around him, awestruck.

'Tell us!' Quentin insisted.

Fred obliged.

* * *

_**November 23**_

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, all the seventh-year Gryffindors were aware of what had happened. To heighten excitement and suspense, all nine of them refused to tell the rest of their house—or anybody else for that matter—what had happened, and so the rest of the Weasley family were left guessing. This, of course, made them quite frustrated.

'If it's to do with Fred and Barbara,' said Roxanne bitterly, crossing her arms, 'then I've got as much right to know as anyone. He _is_ my brother, isn't he?'

'We're on the same Quidditch team!' Albus protested. 'What happened to loyalty, honour?'

James leaned along the table and whispered in his brother's ear, 'You're one to talk about loyalty, Al.'

The sixth-year went bright red and whispered back angrily, 'You wouldn't dare. I thought we settled this!'

'We did,' said James quietly. 'I'm just winding you up.'

Fred and Barbara sat beside one another, sharing glances and adorable little smiles. On one hand, it made Rose want to blush for even witnessing something so filled with love; on the other hand, Barbara really _was_ beautiful, and something had finally happened between she and Fred, even if no one would tell Rose what it really was.

Lily and Lucy insisted that they had finally gotten together, and that it was stupid to pretend otherwise, but no matter how close their general ideas were: nothing compared to the desire for knowledge of what had really happened.

Indeed, the seventh-years spent the rest of the day being bombarded by questions on the subject, to all of which they denied an answer and sounded almost boastful doing it.

* * *

_**November 24**_

* * *

While the drama going on in Gryffindor was all related to romance, Slytherin house had taken a much different approach. For many, this meant taken every opportunity they were given to trip Hufflepuffs in the hallways, or be particularly malice-filled towards their badger crested classmates.

But for the sixth-years in particular, it was much more about avoiding Venice Higgs and—more specifically—her wand hand.

'Don't say _anything_ that she could even begin to relate to McCormick,' Patricia warned a cold, lethargic Scorpius that Wednesday after Quidditch practice was completed.

The weather had not improved by any standard, and so both teams were bracing themselves for the first rainy Quidditch match of the year. Scorpius had changed out of his uniform, but his hair wasn't quite dry; it didn't seem like something to use magic for at the time.

He replied, 'I don't think I should say anything to Venice in general—she still can't stand me for kicking her off the team.'

'I thought you said that wouldn't be a permanent thing!' Patricia complained.

She was sick and tired of having to deal with Venice's constant bitterness; though she had once appreciated the girl's will to be opinionated, it was now more of a chore that Patricia had to put up with: like a particularly angry old relative that one is forced to take care of and cherish, simply because that's what has been done for such a long time.

'Has she shown any kind of improving? You know, in terms of McCormick and whatnot.

Patricia, who took "whatnot" to mean "Shelley", said, 'No. She hasn't.'

'I don't understand why she's _still_ freaking out about that—it's been practically a month. And it was _her_ who dumped _him_ anyway! You're not meant to still have feelings for someone after a break-up—especially not if you're the one ending it!'

Patricia waved off Scorpius's words with a dismissive hand. 'It's one of those things that you can only understand by being a girl.'

'What?' Scorpius said grouchily. 'Even if your girlfriend breaks up with you, you're meant to be emotionally wounded for the rest of your life and never be in another relationship? That's bullsh—' Scorpius paused in his cursing as a couple of second-years passed by, giggling. '—it!' He resumed.

Patricia shrugged. They arrived at the Entrance Hall, caught sight of Shelley babbling enthusiastically about some subject of another, and they saw that her arm was looped in McCormick's, and that he was trying his best to listen to her—he even looked happy, surprisingly. Patricia and Scorpius quickly hurried down the stairs to the dungeons and towards the Slytherin common room.

'Recognition!' Scorpius said quickly.

The entrance to the common room didn't open. 'Oh!' said Patricia quickly. 'Ruby told me at lunchtime; the password's changed.' She looked directly at the slab of stone wall in front of her and enunciated, 'Legacy.'

* * *

_**November 25**_

* * *

'Miss Andy?'

Seamy the house elf tugged on the Hufflepuff's coat hem, looking nervous. Andy set down her cake and turned her attention to him. 'Yes, Seamy?'

'Well, Miss Andy, me and the others is wondering why Mister Albus is not being accompanying you to the kitchens no more.'

As soon as he said this, Seamy took a step back, as if he were frightened Andy would lash out at him. Instead, she sighed. It was true—Albus hadn't met her at the kitchens since that time he had been made late by comforting Cordelia. That had told her everything she needed to know, especially a lot about his priorities. Of course, it had been stupid to think Albus would have been interested in spending time with Andy at all; he was so much and she was so little.

And it wasn't like anyone had ever fancied her before, so there really _was_ nothing to see.

'Don't worry, Seamy,' she said reassuringly. 'It's not for any bad reason—Albus just has... other things to fill his time with. That's all.'

_Like caring for his brother's girlfriend even though she has no idea of his real intentions._

'And Mister Louis's problem is being the same? Too busy?'

Andy nodded. 'Mister Louis was just coming along for a quick visit, Seamy.'

'All right. Can Seamy fetch you another slice of cake, Miss Andy?'

Andy nodded, taking one last bite of the blueberry cheesecake and handing the empty plate to the elf beside her. He hurried off to a more crowded area of the kitchen, where Andy saw many elves hurrying about. They were, most likely, preparing for breakfast, and then they would be heading off to bed. Hoping this was the case, Andy watched another slice of blueberry cheesecake wind its way through the sea of house elves, appearing in front of her with Seamy's hands, along with the rest of his entity, resting beneath it.

'Thank you, Seamy.'

'No trouble for you, Miss Andy. Never any trouble.'

* * *

_**November 26**_

* * *

Roxanne Weasley was not one to frequent the Hogwarts library. Almost halfway through her fifth year, the Gryffindor had only been inside it three times. Not counting that time it had been late and she had thought it was the toilet, of course. But even though she was not a dedicated scholar, Roxanne _was_ quite interested in people. And, in the hour or two between the day's last lesson and the beginning of dinner, the library was filled with them.

With no Quidditch practice, what else was Roxanne supposed to do? Sit around Gryffindor common room and ogle at Chris Wood all day? Certainly not.

Roxanne dawdled down the aisles, from first edition Potions books to pristinely maintained copies of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. She had never been one to get heavily involved in relationships, but she was in possession of enough cousins to know that different people had different relationships.

James and Cordelia were perfect together by definition: both were tall, attractive, intelligent—however mischievous, James managed to be one of the top students in his year—sportspeople, Prefects (and in James's case: Head Boy). They even had the cute little story that she stopped him whoring around.

Molly and Archie were conservative: Roxanne had never even seen them be more affectionate than a hug, and they had been together for longer than any of the other couples Roxanne was thinking about. Though she didn't understand the appeal Molly saw in her boyfriend. Molly was pretty, smart, law-abiding in most cases... and Archie had a face like a Saucepan. Everyone said it. But perhaps he was nice. That could be it.

Fred and Barbara were definitely a couple, no matter what anyone tried to say. Roxanne knew something had happened there: for once, it wasn't just her brother staring longingly at Barbara; now the Head Girl was returning his gaze. _They've probably snogged_, she thought.

To cleanse the thought from her mind, Roxanne picked up a book at random and investigated the cover. Significantly distracted, she slotted it back into its place on the shelf.

Scorpius Malfoy and his girlfriend, Patricia, were similar to Fred and Barbara in the sense that they had always been best friends, even before there was something else there. But Roxanne didn't know very much about either Slytherin, and she didn't dwell on their relationship for long.

She was just about to get started on Shelley Corner dating Dylan McCormick when a familiar face caught her eye. Rose was strolling through the library, going to different shelves in search of a book she needed. Roxanne tried to pick one out and look invested, but Rose spotted her and dashed over. The noise of her feet seemed to catch the attention of other people, because the Ravenclaw Keeper, Will Bowen looked up as she passed.

'Can I see that?' Rose asked.

Roxanne held up the book and Rose grinned. 'That's the one I've been looking for! You're the best, Roxanne!'

Before she could respond, Rose walked off.

Roxanne's attention returned momentarily to Will Bowen, who was smiling slightly to himself and, evidently, trying to clean up a splotch of ink that had dropped from his quill.

* * *

_**November 27**_

* * *

Hogsmeade village was filled with students from the school. It seemed that every person who had a signed permission form had made the trip. It was still raining, though not as torrentially as it had been days prior, but this hadn't stopped anyone. Third-years were busy stocking up on Weasley products and stuffing them into their pockets, ready to smuggle into school; fourth-years were trying to act older than they were by ordering at the Hog's Head; fifth-years were mostly in love and walking up the road hand-in-hand to Madam Puddifoot's teashop. Sixth-years were scattered all around: crowds of them inside Dervish & Banges, The Three Broomsticks and Honeyduke's Sweet Shop, and the rest roaming the streets. The seventh-year students, glad to be free temporarily from assignments and work, were moving around manically from place to place, doing whatever they found interesting and then dashing off to somewhere warmer.

Two of these seventh-years, however, were not outside enjoying the frivolity. Molly Weasley and Archie Myers were sat in the window of Madam Puddifoot's, feeling quite in love. They didn't seem to know that there were other people around, that—in fact—Molly's cousin Hugo was trapped inside the very same shop with his own sort-of girlfriend Alana; nothing existed but each other.

Molly leaned over the table to kiss her boyfriend; there were lots of other kissing couples around the teashop, and nobody seemed to care. However, the couple's placement in the window probably hadn't been wise, for no sooner had Molly and Archie begun kissing when large hoots of laughter filled their ears.

Breaking apart, both turned and looked out the window to find Albus, Louis, Lily, and Lucy all roaring with mirth. Molly glared at her family and sat back down, watching them turn and leave. Her gaze followed them like a bird of prey until they were safely past Honeyduke's, and then she leaned over and resumed what she had been doing.

* * *

In the other corner, as far away from the window as possible, sat a very uncomfortable Hugo Weasley. Opposite him was the pretty, brown-haired Alana Harris. She was wearing very pink lip gloss, but it didn't stain the mug when she sipped daintily at her passion-fruit tea.

'You look nervous,' said Alana, sliding her hand across the table to cover Hugo's.

'I can _see_ my cousin over there snogging her boyfriend,' Hugo replied. 'What part of that _isn't_ supposed to make me nervous?'

Alana smiled warmly. 'Molly doesn't seem to care about you seeing her snog... and I've been thinking, Hugo... our first visit to Hogsmeade together was two months and ten days ago.'

'Was it?' Hugo asked, his tone failing to mask how completely unimportant he found that information.

Alana nodded. 'And I've just been wondering... I mean, judging by all the couples in here...' She paused, but then said quite frankly, 'anyone else would've snogged me by now.'

Hugo's eyes bugged out. '_What_? Do you—er—do you want me to—?'

Alana laughed, her hand still clasped over Hugo's. 'Don't freak out,' she said. 'I was just—you're almost fifteen, aren't you?'

'I turn fifteen in January,' Hugo muttered.

'Exactly!' Alana smiled again. 'How stupid will you feel if you turn fifteen and you've never even _snogged _anyone?'

Hugo shrugged. 'I don't think it'll be too bad,' he admitted.

'You don't understand this, do you? Girls don't want to go out with boys who haven't done any proper kissing—it's embarrassing.'

'You want to go out with me, don't you?'

Hugo was honestly unsure of what the answer would be. His self-confidence was draining more and more as the minutes crept by.

'Of course I do,' Alana said brightly. 'But I'm not like most girls, silly!'

'Are you trying to make me feel bad, or do you still want me to snog you? Because, right now, I'm actually not sure—'

She laughed girlishly. 'Of course I want you to snog me, Hugo,' she said awkwardly. 'That's why we've been together two months and ten days. I've been waiting.'

Hugo felt himself going red. 'Oh. Er—'

Before he could complete the sentence, Alana leaned up over the table and took his face in her hands, crushing their lips together. There wasn't really much for Hugo to do except sit there as Alana continued to kiss him—she didn't seem to require any kind of feedback—and hope to Merlin that none of his cousins were watching.

With a deep breath, Alana pulled back. She sat down, pulled ten Sickles out of her purse, and set them down on the table; then she stood up to leave.

'What—where are you going?' Hugo asked, still quite bewildered.

Alana smiled, but this time there was none of the warmth from her previous smiles. 'To tell my friends what just happened,' she said icily. 'I bet them three Galleons each I'd be the first girl Ron and Hermione Weasley's son ever kissed.'

* * *

'That'll be James and Chris next year,' said Victoire, flipping through the pages of an article chronicling a ferocious Quidditch game between the Appleby Arrows and Puddlemere United.

She sat against the wall behind the front counter of the Weasleys' shop. Dominique was tending to customers in front, and Teddy was up at the school having lunch with Hagrid, so there really wasn't anywhere else for Victoire to be.

'Who won?' Dominique asked, not turning around to face her sister. She charged a Hufflepuff one Galleon for the Patented Daydreams he was purchasing as Victoire replied, 'the Arrows. But it was only because McDonnell caught the Snitch—Puddlemere was up by one hundred and forty.'

'Damn, that bloke's a fantastic Seeker,' said Dominique. She was customer-less, and so she moved to sit down beside her sister.

Victoire raised her eyebrows. 'I bet you regret not letting him take you to Slughorn's Christmas Party that one year, Dom.'

Dominique chuckled. 'He was half as tall as me three years ago!'

'Well, now he's not,' said Victoire, her tone heavy, 'so perhaps you should ring him up and ask if he's still willing to go for—Hugo?' She stood up quickly, investigating the white, horrified face of her cousin, who had just walked in the door. 'What happened?'

'It's not as bad as what you're probably thinking,' he managed.

Outside, a brown-haired girl was standing with a group of friends, collecting Galleons from each of them. Her friends looked annoyed, but one of them spied Dominique observing them from inside the shop and they all hurried off into The Three Broomsticks.

'What happened?' Victoire repeated. 'Who was it?'

'Alana Harris,' Hugo muttered, sounding miserable.

Victoire pulled him out of the crowd, behind the counter and sat him down. She stared him right in the eyes and enquired slowly, 'what did this Alana Harris girl do to you?'

Hugo looked reproachfully around the shop and began to relay the events of Madam Puddifoot's. By the end, Victoire and Dominique looked disgusted; the latter of the two had her wand out and she was at the door before Victoire caught up and pulled her back.

'Hexing this girl would make the problem worse, right?'

Hugo nodded despairingly. Dominique scoffed, 'Rubbish! I'll teach that little cow a lesson about what happens when you mess with the Weasleys!'

Victoire's grip around her sister remained firm. 'You will, but it won't be from cursing her. And—Dom, come on—you're _nineteen_!' she protested. 'Almost twenty—you shouldn't be calling fourteen-year-old girls cows! No matter how true it may be!'

* * *

Barbara sat in The Three Broomsticks, leaning into Fred's shoulder. She felt both completely comfortable and as though she was living someone else's life. In the booth around the corner, which was in plain view of the door, Shelley Corner and Dylan McCormick were sucking face rather heatedly; their butterbeers completely forgotten. It almost felt sinful to watch.

A group of sixth-year Slytherins shuffled in, Scorpius Malfoy's girlfriend among them. Higgs, the ex-Chaser of the Slytherin team, took one look at Corner and McCormick before dashing out of the room, cursing angrily.

'Talk about female issues,' Fred muttered.

'What—like blokes are any better!'

'We are,' said Fred, 'well, perhaps not _me_, personally, but—'

'—would you _ever_ have told me?'

Fred's breathing, which Barbara could feel in her close proximity, slowed abruptly. 'You never asked,' he murmured.

'But what if I never did?'

He chuckled. 'You didn't actually _ask_, Barbara; you seduced me in the middle of a corridor.'

'Seduced?' Barbara laughed. 'I don't think I fit the requirements for what people find seductive.'

'Then those people need a new list.'

A small gaggle of fourth-years kept eyeing them furtively. Barbara saw this and sighed. 'I think Hugo's little girlfriend's getting a bit freaked out by the two of us.'

Fred tilted his head back so Barbara could sit up properly. She brushed herself off and took a sip of butterbeer.

'It feels mental,' said Fred, 'that I could just lean over and give you a proper snog right now.'

He didn't say it by way of suggestion or innuendo: it was simply a thought, and a pleasant one at that. Like the kind you have when you wake up and realize that it's your birthday. At the same moment, Fred caught sight of Corner and McCormick, and seemed to change his mind entirely.

'Let's not be trashy,' he advised.

'Are you sure you'll be able to stand it?' Barbara said teasingly. 'What with me being so attractive and all.'

Fred shrugged. 'I couldn't do anything other than be your best friend for over five years; I think I've learnt a bit about self-control in my time.'

* * *

_**November 28**_

* * *

The Head Girl's birthday was celebrated that Sunday in the Gryffindor common room. The party, which had been entirely planned by her fellows on the Quidditch team, began at around eight o'clock that evening, and did not desist until Professor Longbottom—who was, after all, Head of Gryffindor house—arrived at midnight and told them rather regretfully to head to bed.

'Do you think it bothers her,' Jess asked in the dormitory that night, on the subject of the girl whose birthday party they had just been sent from, 'that she's a month older than her boyfriend?'

Elena looked at Jess as though she had just stripped off her clothes, lit herself on fire and then tried to play a Quidditch game.

'I don't think so,' said Molly tiredly. 'But do you know what bothers _me_? I turned eighteen a couple of months ago and no one threw _me_ a massive party!'

'You shouldn't have been born the same day James and Cordelia got together,' Elena said, sounding almost as ludicrous as Jess had seemed to her. 'Everything would have been a lot more festive.'

'We gave you three hours alone with Archie, didn't we?'

Molly sighed and clambered into bed. She had half a mind to get up and do something, but it was midnight at the whole idea of getting up was insane. Where would she even _go_? What the hell was she thinking?

Deciding her brain needed time to rework itself into sanity, Molly fell asleep.

* * *

_**November 29**_

* * *

'Rose! Rose Weasley!'

The Prefect was on her way to lunch when Will Bowen caught her up. She tried to remain perfectly calm, but she felt as though her hair was too bushy or her face unattractive. Still, she stood at the top of the stairs that led down to the Entrance Hall and conducted a proper conversation.

'Hi,' she greeted.

Will grinned. He had a rather nice smile. 'I was just making sure everything's going all right with you—you know, no more problems like the one with Devon Henry.'

Rose returned his smile. 'No,' she said, 'thankfully not. I think you scared him off, personally.' She paused, just letting herself be grateful for a moment that at least _someone_ was looking out for her. 'Thanks again for that, by the way.'

'Don't worry about it,' Will told her. He leaned in to keep his next words just between the two of them. 'No one would've made a big deal if it was Shelley Corner.'

Rose smiled again. 'Thanks again,' she called as he began to walk away.

Ten stairs down, Will turned back around. 'What am I being thanked for this time?' he asked.

'For being decent,' Rose replied.

* * *

_**November 30**_

* * *

November rolled out with somewhat of a bang. Thunder and lightning shook the halls of the school. Paintings were rocked from their pedestals, but Filch was too busy tending to the flooded girls' bathroom on the second floor—courtesy of Moaning Myrtle, who ran all the sinks in an effort to drown herself after her request to accompany Scorpius to Slughorn's Christmas Party had been denied—so the task of righting these fallen portraits rested upon the Prefects.

Connor Wilson still wouldn't speak to Cordelia, and it could not be said that the girl minded, so when James Potter arrived to assist his girlfriend with the paintings that had fallen around Ravenclaw's area of the castle, Wilson didn't object. He dashed off to the library where he had been told to go and help without another word.

'Oi!' called a particularly foul-mannered gang of drunken monks as Cordelia picked up their frame. 'Be careful, eh? Don't want to slide us out into oblivion, do you?' They accused.

James hung up a painting of the kind-looking old witch responsible for the largest collection of Puffskeins in rural Britain and took the large frame out of Cordelia's hands, for it was supposedly set just out of her reach. The monks began to harass him as well, but James cut them off with a threatening shake of the frame.

'James—honestly, it's...'

He glared at the fattest, rudest monk of the group, for it was he who had been shouting at Cordelia, and said menacingly, 'watch it, you! I've got a painting of some South American jungle down here, featuring some very hungry beasts. Now, I wonder what would happen if I gave this another shake... don't you painted folk slide down into the next frame you find?'

The monks all began shaking their heads rather worriedly. 'You wouldn't!' they cried, 'You wouldn't!'

'No,' said Cordelia, extracting the monks' painting from James's hands. 'He wouldn't.'

She set them back up on their hanger as all the monks shouted praise for her justice, her brilliance, her beauty! James looked warily at them for the last comment.

'This one here's mine,' he said, and as if to make his point clear, he planted a kiss on her cheek.

Cordelia rolled her eyes and resumed the hanging of frames, though a little smile had crept across her face. She continued to ignore both her boyfriend and the monks, who continued to question—for the next full hour—why someone as decent and wonderful and chivalrous as Cordelia wanted to be with a boyfriend so crass and rude.

'Chivalry,' James said, affronted, 'is _my_ department. _I'm _the Gryffindor.'

'Yeah!' shouted one of the monks. 'You're the brawn and she's the brain—it's nice to see who's more in control of such a relationship, you foul tyrant!'

Cordelia decided that once the argument began to involve swearing, she and James would be relocating themselves to a different area of the castle. This stage came barely a moment after the hung the last frame.

She pretended not to laugh at the cocky grin James flung the monks as she pulled him to the practically empty wing of the castle.

* * *

_**December 1**_

* * *

'This is just hurting you,' Patricia told Venice.

They sat together in the stands, beginning the last month of the year by watching a Slytherin Quidditch practice in which Venice was forced not to partake. She had sought Patricia when Ruby refused to brave the rain that she had expected would come with sitting outside. However, there had been a most strange occurrence: almost overnight, every storm cloud had disappeared; the whole sky was bright blue, only one or two white wisps of cloud trailing their way behind the tall towers of Hogwarts School.

The weather was so pleasant that many people tried to go without jackets, but the bite that had hung in the air for the last two weeks hadn't quite moved out. Shelley Corner, evidently, had been one of these unlucky people.

She was cuddled up in what turned out to be McCormick's jersey, and as she tried to make conversation with Patricia and Venice, she moved up a bench or two in order to sit beside them.

'Hello,' she began brightly, the cheeriness of her tone not coming equal to the iciness with which it pierced the air. 'It's awfully good weather, isn't it?'

'Such good weather that you had to wear your boyfriend's jumper?'

Though Patricia wanted to tell Venice that even _her_ fury did not compare to the skill that Corner had at concealing hers until a vital moment, she couldn't say it without making it loud enough for their Ravenclaw company to hear as well.

'I know this is uncomfortable for you,' Corner said to Venice. 'And I understand that we're not ever going to be friends or anything, because you broke up with the boy I've definitely decided I _love_—oh!' exclaimed the girl suddenly, which made Patricia wonder if Venice had stuck her with a pin, 'I've been meaning to say thank you—to you, Venice!'

'Why on earth would you want to thank _me_ for anything?'

Patricia knew Corner was being too nice; she was a cold, manipulative tart. Still, the Prefect stayed silent. She was shoved up against the side of the stands anyway, so it was difficult to make any big gestures, whether it was in terms of speaking or moving.

'Because,' said Corner pointedly, 'you broke up with Dylan! He was a bit torn up when I came across him, but it's all right—we're happy now. I think I've finally found _the_ guy, you know? The one I'm destined to call my First Love?'

Patricia decided this was _definitely_ not the real Shelley Corner speaking.

Venice looked like she was in danger of slashing the girl's head off with the sheer force of her rage. 'Well,' she said instead, and her tone sounded quite constricted, 'I'm pleased everything's worked out for you two.'

'Thank you!' Corner responded gratefully. 'You're so much sweeter than Dylan makes you sound.'

If Patricia could have paid in Galleons to stop those words from coming out of the Ravenclaw's mouth, she would have. And she wouldn't have even regretted her decision. Because Venice's face portrayed nothing more and nothing less than the same anger Patricia had felt before she punched Rose Weasley in the nose.

And the rest was history.

* * *

_**December 2**_

* * *

'Bloody hell, Scorpius!' Albus exclaimed. 'How have you stayed alive as long as you have?'

'Slytherin birds are a violent bunch,' Rose put in from behind them, glancing fleetingly at Patricia. Her tone was joking, and it was the first time she had spoken to Scorpius since September, but in that moment, it was just about the only thing keeping anyone's morale up.

Scorpius, Patricia, Albus, Rose, Cordelia and Tabitha Perkins were standing around a table outside the wards of the hospital wing. Scorpius and Patricia were there to see Venice, who had had about seventeen different hexes performed on her at the same time, and Shelley was resting a broken nose. McCormick was sitting in there with her now.

Albus and Rose were no great friends of Venice's or Shelley's, but they had been together when Cordelia told them Shelley was in the hospital wing, and Rose hadn't wanted to be left alone while Albus followed his Ravenclaw friend, so she had come along as well.

Madam Pomfrey hurried past with McCormick; she seemed to be ushering him out. The old woman was muttering phrases that sounded to Albus like, 'can't bloody keep their hands off each other for ten seconds! Her nose is broken, for Merlin's sake!' When she returned, they were allowed in to see their classmates.

Patricia and Scorpius—well, it was more Patricia; Scorpius was being pulled—moved over to see Venice, who looked faintly green and had a collection of empty potion bottles on her white, sterile-looking bedside table. She was tired, and barely awake, but still she looked a bit angry. 'At least,' she murmured, sounding satisfied, 'the slut's finally in here, instead of sending people in for her.'

Tabitha and Cordelia were looking nervously at one another, and then at Shelley. She looked just the same as she always did; she still possessed that faint air of being better than everyone in the vicinity. Instead of being outraged at the sight of Albus and Rose, who had hung back briefly because they weren't sure of how their presence would be received, Shelley grinned.

'Bet this is a lovely sight,' she said.

Rose, though she barely knew Shelley and often disproved of the girl's actions, smiled. 'You look very pretty,' she complimented.

Albus took the hint and added, 'I _definitely_ didn't look that attractive when I took a Bludger to the nose in fourth year.'

The three Ravenclaws in their company chuckled; Shelley because she was happy to be flattered and had been entwined with some seventh-year Hufflepuff at the time of Albus's incident, Tabitha because she had been very nervous about the outcome (she secretly found Albus quite attractive and had been worried his nose being damaged would cause somewhat of a damper on his good looks), and Cordelia because she had been playing in that game against Gryffindor, and had dodged the same Bludger thirty seconds before it hit her friend in the nose.

Rose looked at the clock on the wall. 'It's dinnertime.'

Almost as soon as she said this, Madam Pomfrey swept into the room with two trays of food in her hands. 'You six had better be going—you'll be late for dinner.'

Rose, Tabitha, Albus, and Cordelia all nodded quickly, and both Slytherins on the opposite side of the room waved to their bedridden housemate before saying a chaste "goodbye" to Madam Pomfrey. Patricia secretly found the woman quite cool, and it was an unspoken ambition of hers to give Madam Pomfrey a good hug before she finished seventh-year.

'That could've been us in there,' Rose said quietly to Patricia as the others began a deep conversation about the taste of Gurdyroots.

Patricia could have replied quite bitterly, for she wasn't Rose Weasley's Number One Fan, but Rose was trying, so Patricia thought she should offer something up as well. 'Am I Shelley or Venice?'

'_You_ hit _me_,' Rose reminded. 'I think that makes me Shelley.'

Somewhat begrudgingly—because she didn't fancy being Venice—Patricia began to nod.

* * *

_**December 3**_

* * *

'You and Hugo broke up, didn't you?'

Alana shuffled the parchment on her desk and said, 'yes—last Saturday.'

Lily and Lucy had both heard what had happened in Hogsmeade from Dominique after Hugo had refused to tell them. Both wanted nothing more than to hex Alana Harris into oblivion—because _how dare she do something like that to Hugo_?—but in order to reach a point at which it might be acceptable to jinx her, they both had to act as though they had no idea.

'What happened with you two?' Lucy asked kindly. 'You were together like, two months.'

'And ten days,' muttered Alana. Abruptly, she looked up at the two of them. Her face was fierce. 'Don't act as though you don't know what happened—he's your _cousin_! He would've told you two first!'

Lily glared. 'As a matter of fact, he didn't.'

'And, Alana,' Lucy began, saying her name as though it were a swear word. 'I don't know what it is you're expecting us to say right now—'

'I'm not _expecting_ you to say anything,' Alana snapped. She stood from her four-poster, for they were the only three in the dormitory and she had no one to fight her battle for her, and scowled down at the two of them, both of whom were not quite as tall. 'I know you Weasleys—you're not going to do _anything_.'

Lily, who did not have _half_ Lucy's self-control, whipped out her wand and said, 'You may know Weasleys, but you have no _clue_ what a Potter would do in this situation.'

And then, with a flick of her wrist, giant bogies burst forward. They flapped around as though they had wings and surrounded Alana, who was shrieking. Knowing that this was certainly becoming a trademark for her, and this time she would definitely be punished for it, Lily pulled her cousin from the dormitory.

* * *

Albus and Rose, the Gryffindor Prefects, did not send Lily to detention immediately. First they had her relay the conversation between her, Lucy, and Alana—by the end of which Rose was more determined to give Lily fifty house points than one detention—and then settled that she would be sitting in Professor Longbottom's office that evening writing lines.

_I must not lose my temper and send bogeys to attack people no matter how much I think they deserve it_.

'So what exactly did that Alana girl do anyway?' Neville asked when Lily reached the thirtieth of seventy-five lines.

'She convinced Hugo that she fancied him, and then went out with him for "two months and ten days", only to dump him when they finally kissed—turns out she only wanted to be Hugo _Weasley's_ first kiss!'

'So you hexed her?'

'Hell yes I did!' Lily looked up from the line she was writing, looking sheepish. 'Sorry, Neville.'

Neville shook his head. The door opened and in that moment, Teddy's head poked through. He noticed Lily and blinked, but then he swaggered in and shut the door behind him. 'What are you in for this time, Red?'

'I hexed someone,' Lily muttered.

'Bat-Bogey?' Teddy asked, but his question was aimed at both of them. He took a seat at the front of the room near Neville's desk as both Lily and the Herbology professor nodded. 'I regret telling you it was your mum's specialty, then.'

It was true; Teddy had sparked Lily's interest in the Bat-Bogey Hex after telling her that Ginny Potter had been a particularly notorious user of it. Now it was pretty much Lily's hex of choice, if ever she needed one.

Lily set back to her lines, but it was no longer like a detention. Teddy and Neville began discussing Quidditch, a subject on which Lily was most apt; soon the three of them were debating the supremacy of the Holyhead Harpies and the Irish team. By the end of the detention session, Lily had only completed fifty-three lines, but Neville wrote them off completely and said she had learned her lesson.

'You did, didn't you?'

'Yeah,' said Lily firmly, 'I won't let myself get caught next time I want to hex someone.'

Neville and Teddy both shook their heads, but understood that there was nothing either of them could do to change her mind.

* * *

_**December 4**_

* * *

The Slytherin-Hufflepuff match had caused enough squabbling, and now that the day had finally arrived, every student was down at the Quidditch Pitch. Gryffindor was primarily supporting Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaws were spread throughout; splashes of red and blue amidst the crowds of yellow and green. Venice had decided not to come to the match at all, but no one really cared about her problems at this point in time. Patricia was completely sick of them.

To support Scorpius, she surrounded herself with Ruby and a few others from her house, but Cordelia, Andy—who couldn't have cared less about whether her house won or lost—and Albus showed up to help out, too. It seemed that James and his friends had instead decided to side with Hufflepuff.

'The teams are heading onto the pitch,' commentated Lorcan Scamander. 'For Hufflepuff, it's Clarke, Cadwallader, Macmillan, Smith, Finch-Fletchley, Eckert and Burns!'

Cheers erupted from the Hufflepuff side of the pitch as the seven players zoomed onto the pitch. They were obviously hoping that things wouldn't go as badly as they had in the match against Ravenclaw.

'And here comes the Slytherin team! Malfoy, Vaisey, McCormick, Harper, Bole, Prikk and Montague! The Slytherin line-up's changed considerably after some argumentative practices, or so I hear. Let's hope the new players don't catch the Loser's Lurgy!'

Many of the supporters laughed at this; the Scamanders' commentaries always offered up a bit of humour.

'Madam Hooch begins the game with the release of the Golden Snitch—worth one hundred and fifty points to the team who catches it, and also ends the game!'

The Snitch hovered momentarily in the air before zooming off and out of sight. Scorpius and Clarke glared at one another. Madam Hooch released the Bludgers and then, before anyone was knocked off their brooms, the Quaffle.

Slytherin instantly took possession, and Scorpius was grateful he now had Kimberley Harper in play: she sped down the pitch and passed to Vaisey, who was blocked unfortunately by the Hufflepuff Smith.

'It's Hufflepuff in possession—wait, no it isn't—Smith dodges a Bludger and loses the Quaffle—Slytherin Chaser McCormick takes it down to the goalposts and it's—_ten-nil to Slytherin_! Good on you!'

Hufflepuff supporters cheered as Cadwallader raced down the Pitch—Beaters Finch-Fletchley and Eckert were keeping the Slytherins away with skill they hadn't seemed to possess during the game against Ravenclaw—and scored a goal; Montague had missed by inches.

However, he managed to save the next goal, and the one after that; he missed the third, but by this time the score was fifty-twenty and it didn't really matter too much. Scorpius was circling the pitch, but there had been no sign of the Snitch anywhere.

Slytherin scored another goal, but it didn't match up to the next three scored by Hufflepuff. 'It's sixty-fifty to Slytherin! It's hard to tell how things will pan out with such a close game!'

'Hufflepuff's doing really well,' Cordelia commented, though her allegiance was still with Slytherin. Patricia turned around.

'Well, it's not as though Montague's had much time to practice,' she said, sounding a little harsher than she had intended. 'We can't all be Will Bowen.'

Cordelia's face fell as Patricia turned back to the game. 'I—I didn't really mean it like that,' she murmured, but it was so quiet only Albus could hear.

Back up in the air, Scorpius saw the Snitch. It was fluttering to the right of the Hufflepuff goalposts, but no one was paying it any attention. Not wanting to tip off Clarke, he pretended he was slowly taking another lap of the pitch.

He was fifteen feet away from the Snitch and the goalpost when Hufflepuff scored again. They were head to head, tied. All that mattered now was the Snitch. Suddenly, Scorpius could feel every eye in the stands on him. In the hullaballoo, however, the Snitch had moved away.

Clarke seemed to sight it, halfway down the pitch. He dived after it, but Slytherin Beater Matt Bole hit a Bludger towards him with incredible skill and it hit Clarke's outstretched arm. He cried out in pain, but Scorpius was now neck and neck with the Hufflepuff Captain. The Snitch was hovering around the floor of the pitch; Scorpius slapped Clarke's hand out of the way and grabbed the little golden ball for himself.

The green and silver ocean on one side of the Quidditch pitch went crazy. They shouted in approval, high-fiving and hugging one another; Scorpius, instead of landing with his team and the disgruntled Hufflepuffs—all of whom were looking more fed up with Clarke than the Slytherin team—flew over to Patricia's area of the stands, found his girlfriend and hugged her as best he could from mid-air. Leaving her blushing slightly (and James, on the other side of the pitch, determined to upstage this gesture at some point in time), he returned to his team.

Kimberley Harper, who had scored three of Slytherin's six goals, was hugging a red-faced Tim Vaisey; Matt Bole and Thomas Prikk—who had decided to stay sober for this occasion—were high-fiving one another. Dylan McCormick was standing by himself, not doing anything in particular. Scorpius joined Andre Montague, who was looking very upset with himself, and assured him that it was all right.

'I understand if you want to kick me off the team, Scorpius,' he said.

'Nah,' the Captain told him, 'that'd be stupid. Everyone gets nervous in their first school-wide game; you're brilliant during practice, so there's no _chance_ I'm letting you go.'

'Are you sure?'

'Take the damn compliment,' Scorpius said, jokingly pushing Montague's shoulder. The boy grinned. 'Seriously,' Scorpius continued, 'you're not as bad as Rourke was.'

'But you kicked him off the team—of course the person you got next would be better.'

'Rourke,' said Scorpius lightly, 'was a terrible Keeper. And between you and me,' he muttered, leaning closer to Montague, 'he _was_—to be frank—a bit of a dick.'

* * *

_**December 5**_

* * *

Alice Longbottom and Molly Weasley had been quite good friends growing up. They barely ever saw each other at school—for Alice was in Hufflepuff like her mother had been—but when they did talk, they often shared the same views.

For instance, they both agreed that N.E.W.T.s were frightful and it did students no good to be forced into doing such strenuous work, but they knew that things were important to learn because of later application in life and awfully annoying things like that. Alice wanted, after Hogwarts, to pursue Herbology as her father had; Molly wanted to work in the Ministry, in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She didn't fancy herself as an Auror, but she thought rules deserved to be upheld, and anything she could do to help, she would.

However, jobs in law enforcement required years of extra work, as well as clerking for Ministry workers; Molly had had no luck so far in her requests, despite the fact that her father was an assistant to Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic and therefore quite high up as Ministry officials went.

'You'll have no problem, Molly,' said Alice. 'You're one of the smartest people I know—it's a wonder you weren't made a Prefect or Head Girl!'

Molly shook her head. 'Prefects are much better-rounded these days—look at you! You're a Prefect! You're smart and kind and you—you like Herbology and—'

'Stop it,' Alice told her dramatically, 'you'll make me blush.'

'All the praise is deserved, I assure you.'

They returned then to the subject of N.E.W.T.s and were heavily discussing the Protean Charm—which they would be studying when term resumed in January—when Archie Myers approached his girlfriend. He smiled courteously at Alice before turning to Molly.

'Lucy's looking for you,' he said, 'she made it sound quite urgent.'

'Oh—she is? I'd best go and find her then.'

'She's in the library, last I saw her,' Archie said.

Molly looked at her boyfriend, and then at Alice; she told the Hufflepuff that they would definitely have to have another proper talk, and then waved quickly at both Alice and Archie. And she hurried off to find her sister.

* * *

Lucy was in the library, where Archie had said she would be. She was sitting by the window, overlooking the grounds. They were bathed in warm tones now, for the sun was setting, but Molly didn't take much time to admire them. She sat down hurriedly in the empty seat opposite Lucy and asked what had been so urgent.

'I got a letter from mum this morning,' Lucy said. She sounded like she was trying her best not to spoil a wonderful surprise. 'And she didn't really say much, but there was something she wanted me to tell you. I have a feeling you'll enjoy it.'

'What?' Molly asked. If it was such a great thing, couldn't her mother had written to _her_?

'You know how you want to work in law enforcement at the Ministry, but there's all that extra training you have to—apprenticeship and whatnot...'

'Yeah?'

'Well, there's a job open for an assistant—it's really low wages, mind you, but it's something—and the Ministry wants someone whose family have worked there before.'

'Dad works at the Ministry _now_,' said Molly, hoping that the direction her mind was heading in was the same as where Lucy was going.

Her sister grinned. 'Dad got you an interview!'

Molly had to slap a hand over her mouth to stop the raucous squealing. It wouldn't have seemed like much to anybody else, but this was the breakthrough she had been hoping for. 'What kind of assistant?' she asked Lucy.

The fourth-year's eyebrows furrowed and she checked over a piece of paper sitting atop the stack of textbooks in front of her. 'Mum just said "assistant".' Lucy looked at Molly again. 'Are you pleased—you look a bit...'

'I'm definitely pleased, Luce! How could I not be?'

* * *

Andy was almost getting used to life without Jenna's constant interruptions; there had been a few, blissful weeks when her fifth-year sister hadn't spoken to her at all. But, of course, good things always come to an end before their time.

'Any developments on the gentlemen front?' asked Jenna.

She had obviously been waiting in the common room for Andy to make her regular trip to the kitchens at half past eleven. The fifth-year picked herself up off the couch and followed her sister to the exit. Andy scowled when Jenna forced the door shut.

'Let me out!' the sixth-year protested.

Jenna shook her head stubbornly, making her bushy hair even more noticeable. 'Not until you tell me what's been happening with these blokes in your life.'

'You say "these blokes" like there's more than one.'

'Is there?' Jenna pressed.

Andy rolled her eyes. 'I can't even get _one_ to fancy me; what makes you think anyone else would care about this?' She gestured to herself, looking emotionless.

'Oh, stop being so self-pitying!' Jenna snapped. 'You're not completely hopeless—there's more shape to you than any of those stick-figure Quidditch-players, and they've still got people drooling over them! Your hair, if you'd care enough to bother, could be easily tamed with a charm. I don't know why you haven't done it—'

'—Why haven't _you_?'

'Because my hair's not nearly as frightful as yours,' Jenna said with an air of insults. 'Seriously, have you ever encountered a hairbrush?'

Andy pressed her back against the door leading out of the common room and sighed. She looked begrudgingly at her sister. 'Why do you have to pick _now_ to point out every bloody flaw I've got?' she groaned.

Jenna shrugged. 'It's late at night. I've got no social courtesy after eleven.'

_I wouldn't have known you had any social courtesy at all_, thought Andy, but she didn't say anything. Instead she let Jenna poke at everything she thought she could improve until about midnight, when the fifth-year gave up and retired to bed. Andy pulled open the exit to the common room and took a cautionary peek outside. You could never be sure where Peeves was or wasn't lurking, nor when Filch would appear out of the darkness with his rotten, conniving cat.

* * *

'It's midnight,' said Jess. She had been watching the clock since the last few stragglers left the common room for bed; James, Fred, and Molly, who had been waiting in the seats by the fire, had all fallen fast asleep. James had his long legs extended, and his mouth was open slightly; Fred had his feet on James's lap, the rest of his body sprawled over the chair he resided in; Molly had curled up like a cat on the seat to the furthermost right, looking easily the most civilized out of all of them.

'It's midnight,' Jess repeated a little louder. She nudged James with her foot.

He woke, jumping slightly, sending Fred's feet crashing to the ground. Unassuming, the rest of his cousin followed. Fred swore angrily as he sat up, and Molly yawned, having been woken by the thud. The three cousins looked at Jess expectantly.

'It's midnight,' she said for the third time.

Her companions stood swiftly, James pulling the Marauder's Map from his pocket. He tapped it with his wand. 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.'

_Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs_

_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers_

_are proud to present_

_THE MARAUDER'S MAP_

Filch was in the Charms corridor, and Peeves up on the Astronomy tower, but neither place was on the four Gryffindors' list of places to spray with the potion they had been working on for the better part of two months. It felt like such a short time, but the brew had been perfected; everything was ready. Molly had charted out the different areas mistletoe had been hung around the school, and where the most popular, inescapable places were.

James pulled the Invisibility cloak from where it had been scrunched under him as he slept. Albus hadn't been terribly willing to hand it over, but their agreement had been to share it, and that was what James had been asking for. It was, after all, only one night.

They would have to go slowly, because there were four of them and the cloak wasn't massive, but in the darkness their ankles wouldn't mean too much. Plus, they had the Marauder's Map, and with it they could avoid any kind of mishap.

Hogwarts made it almost too easy.

'Are you ready to go?' Fred asked.

Molly and Jess held up their bottles; the brown tint of the glass did nothing to mask the rich, swirling green-turquoise-red of the potion within. James would perform a charm Jess had shown him to keep the liquid on the mistletoe and to evenly distribute it with each passing person. And then everything would be finished.

Well, by preparing standards. The fun would really begin tomorrow; the second Monday of December. No one would know what had hit them.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, James had charmed twenty-two of the fifty mistletoe plants they were required to get to that night. The four Gryffindors were hurrying down the corridors past paintings who weren't particularly happy to be woken—not that they could see the invisible Gryffindors, nor their _Lumos_-ed wands—when the Head Boy stopped to think about Albus.

He didn't often have these heart-to-heart, intense, sentimental moments—especially not about his _brother_—but in this moment, as Jess dabbed one stem of mistletoe and Molly another, James was worried. He knew that his brother fancied Cordelia. He had known it for a while. But the problem was that _she_ didn't. It wasn't really a "problem", but it could have ended up being one; if Albus walked under mistletoe the next day and let Cordelia see that her name was written on his arm. Or if she was there when he didn't receive a kiss, and saw _Cordelia Gilbert_ printed above Al's head in shining crimson letters.

How would she react? Would it ruin friendships—_relationships_?

James decided to stop worrying about it. Things would eventuate how they were supposed to. There was nothing to be done about it.

'That's thirty down,' Jess said, and Molly ticked the places they had visited off the list.

Fred leaned over James's shoulder to get a better look at the Marauder's Map and started. 'Come on, you two!' He shout-whispered to the girls, 'Peeves is on his way down here!'

The four of them huddled together—very cosy and intimate and borderline inappropriate, considering three of them already _had_ significant others—and watched the Poltergeist soar past, throwing dungbombs in all directions. One splattered near Jess's left foot, but fortunately it was far enough away not to touch her or the Invisibility cloak.

They watched Peeves fly up to the fifth floor and Molly whispered, 'we've got twenty more to go—let's get on with it.'

* * *

Another half-hour later, they were finished. Fred whispered, '_gallantry_!' to the Fat Lady, who was rather unhappy to be woken, and the portrait hole swung open. Gryffindor common room was empty, the fire still lit. It felt strangely warm in comparison to the rest of the castle. Molly sighed and sank into an armchair, allowing herself a few minutes so to properly catch her breath.

Their mission had gone off without a hitch: every branch of mistletoe in the most populated areas of Hogwarts was spiked with their potion. It really _was_ extraordinary magic, beyond anything they had studied in Charms. Jess and Molly left for their dormitory before the boys did. Fred and James stayed down there, muttering in hushed whispers about the hopeful success of their plan, and congratulating one another—more so in the case of Fred—on actually having someone to kiss the next day, so to get rid of the names printed on their arms nice and quickly. Around half past one, the boys decided to settle in for what was left of a decent night's sleep.

The Head Boy climbed the dormitory stairs to his solitary bedroom knowing that the next day—and the week that followed—was going to be all kinds of pandemonium.


	25. Unwilling Confessions

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling is the epitome of creativity. She also isn't me.

**AN:** We've made it to Chapter Twenty-Five! Goodness gracious!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

"**Unwilling Confessions"**

**Or**

"**The End of Term One".**

* * *

_**December 6**_

* * *

Lottie dodged a burly seventh-year on her way down the stairs. She was late for breakfast. Rose, Melissa, and Liz hadn't seen the point in waking her up, obviously. People were still milling around, of course, so it wasn't as though she were an hour late; Lottie would have enjoyed being on time, though.

A branch of mistletoe hung under the door, and there was an anxious crowd of fourth-year Ravenclaws in a circle nearby it; Lottie hurried past them as quickly as she could, but as she passed under the mistletoe, she felt the strangest sensation. It felt as though something were creeping up her left arm.

She pulled up the sleeve of her jumper, but when she took a look at her fore-arm, she pushed it back down immediately. Why was Felix Thomas's name written on her? Why? The lad was definitely well fit, and easily worth snogging, but it didn't explain why his name was printed on her arm.

Lottie shook her head in puzzlement as she entered the Great Hall. Everyone was talking amongst themselves, some pointing to the same place on their arm where Felix Thomas's name was etched on Lottie's. She hurried over to Gryffindor table, past a very proud-looking James Potter, who had rolled up his sleeves and was sporting a _Cordelia Gilbert_ on his left fore-arm.

'What the hell's going on?' Lottie asked, slotting herself into a seat between Albus and Liz.

Rose made a face that said "I have no idea!", and Lottie noticed her arm was skilfully concealed from view, as were Melissa's and Liz's. They were all experiencing the same thing Lottie was: that much was evident.

'Who's name's on your arm, then?' Melissa enquired, leaning forward over the table to try and see.

Lottie pulled away, keeping her jumper sleeve safely pulled down. She took a look down Gryffindor table; beside James was Fred, who leaned over to give his new girlfriend Barbara a quick kiss on the lips. She looked surprised enough, but after he pulled away, Fred lifted up her sleeve: there was no name on her fore-arm. He pulled his up as well: it, too, was empty. Roxanne and Wood, who were sitting on the opposite side of the table, looked about the same level of uncomfortable. Roxanne pulled her sleeve down further across the palm of her hand with a quick glance at the seventh-year.

'Why hasn't Fred got anything on him?' Liz asked, for she had also seen the couple kiss.

'I think,' Albus put in suddenly, 'it's because he kissed Barbara. Her arm's clear as well.'

'What?' exclaimed Melissa. 'Does that mean we've got to snog whoever's written on our arm for it to go away?'

Albus shrugged. 'Do you _want_ to snog the person who's written on your arm?'

All four girls nodded, as did Louis, who was sitting on Albus's other side. James leaned over to address them. 'Good job cracking the system, sixth-years. Have fun.'

Albus glanced anxiously at his brother. 'What happens if we _don't_ snog the person who's written on our arm?'

'Then expect an embarrassing surprise,' James said vaguely.

Melissa leaned over the table to Lottie and said, 'I'll tell you, if you tell me.'

'How? We're surrounded.'

Melissa made a tunnel around her mouth with her hands, and Lottie could barely see her mouth "Felix Thomas". She gasped. 'Get your own!'

Melissa's eyes widened. 'The same person?' she asked.

Lottie nodded.

Liz and Rose obviously knew who was written on Melissa's arm, because they looked at Lottie with quite surprised faces. Louis asked Albus who _he_ had written on his arm, and the boy practically jumped out of his seat. Albus crossed his arms tightly across his torso and shook his head.

'No way am I telling you!'

* * *

The Slytherins were sitting together in Monday morning Potions. Well, those of them who had passed highly enough to continue the class. Ruby and Nott were sitting behind Scorpius and Patricia, who were now joking about what it would take to remove each others' names from their arms.

'I saw a couple of people snogging, and then their arms were clean,' said Scorpius.

'So we've got to snog?'

'Don't make it sound like such a chore!' He groaned.

Barely anyone was paying attention to their assignment now; everybody was more amused by the names on their forearms. One unlucky person—Alexander Smith, the solitary Hufflepuff in the room—had been betrayed by his arm a few minutes earlier. A shower of pink sparks had appeared above his head and then, printed in shining crimson letters, the name _Bridget Davies_ sprang to existence where the sparks had been. Bridget, who was sitting beside Shelley at the time, refused to look anywhere in Smith's direction. The poor boy looked as though he were about to cry from embarrassment for the rest of the lesson.

As they left, Scorpius and Patricia pressed their lips together quickly and watched the letters on their arms dissolve. They grinned at each other. 'Problem solved.'

* * *

James had been hoping his brother would get through the day unscathed. As far as he knew, Albus had. But on the way to lunch, when James and Cordelia hurried over to each other and he bestowed upon her the kiss that rid their arms of each others' names; things took a turn for the worst.

Cordelia and James broke apart and the two of them ventured back to Al, whose arms had remained safely covered by a jacket for all of their morning lessons, with the intentions of walking into the Great Hall with him. They were almost at the Entrance Hall now; one more flight of stairs, then a few feet, and they would have arrived at lunch.

But fate had decreed they wouldn't arrive at lunch _together_.

'Look!' Cordelia said proudly to Albus. She hitched up the left sleeve of her cardigan and showed him her perfectly non-_James Potter_-clad arm. 'All better.'

Albus did his best to grin at her.

'Who's name have you got, then?'

The two brothers looked at each other warily; a detail Cordelia did not miss. She was about to ask what they were keeping from her—what the stupid question she had asked was—but then it all became plain.

A shower of sparks no different to Alexander Smith's appeared above Albus's head. The Gryffindor, knowing what was coming, looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but there in that moment. His almond-shaped, bright green eyes met Cordelia's somewhat disappointedly as two words appeared above his head.

_Cordelia Gilbert_.

* * *

The Ravenclaw looked from Albus to James, her face surprised. For a moment, nobody spoke—James's face held an apology, though to whom it was addressed, it was unclear—the realization was sinking in on all three faces. The people who were around them were all unsure of whether to stay and watch or continue down to lunch.

Cordelia was breathing heavily. 'Why didn't you tell me?' she asked, sounding as though someone had just clubbed her over the head with a Beater's bat.

'By the time he really thought about it, you and I were already going out; only one of us could have y—'

She turned to James, looking almost as wounded as Albus. 'Is that all I am to you?' she questioned. 'A way to get one-up on your brother?'

The Head Boy looked pained. 'No, Cordelia...'

Scorpius and Patricia stopped beside them, as did Andy on the opposite side. Lucy and Lily followed suit when they came down the corridor a few seconds later.

'Secret's out,' Albus told them weakly.

Patricia looked upset, though for a different reason than Andy did. Lucy, who knew very little about what was going on, decided it wasn't the moment to ask. Lily just stared at her brothers. Slowly, Cordelia looked around at the small audience of five they had received.

'You all knew,' she realized, 'didn't you?'

Regretfully, they nodded.

She turned back to James and Albus. 'Al,' she told him, 'I am so... so sorry—I didn't mean to hurt you; ever.'

Albus tried for a smile. 'You didn't hurt me. Not badly, anyway. Perhaps if you had,' he mused, 'this wouldn't have been so hard—or nearly as dramatic.'

Scorpius and Andy both chuckled quietly. Cordelia half-smiled, before she turned her attention to James. She asked her boyfriend, 'how long have you known, James?'

'What?'

'How long did you know about Al?'

James added it up. 'Three weeks.'

Andy admitted, 'I've known a few months.'

Cordelia gaped. Patricia then said she had been sure for two months, which didn't help anyone's case. Lily reassured Cordelia that she had only found out when James had, but by then the Ravenclaw's mind was somewhere else.

'I'm not asking all this to be selfish, you know... and I'm really sorry to everyone—especially you, Al—by continuing on this whole affair... but I'm just trying to calculate how long I've been such a blind idiot.'

'What do you mean by that?' asked James.

'Al and I see each other almost every day—can't imagine how awful that must've been for him.'

'What—it's just as awful as anything else other people go through,' James pressed. 'I'm pretty sure fancying a girl doesn't equate to being _rejected_ by one and then forced to sit about with _that_ information until she decides she wants to bother with you!'

Cordelia's mouth fell open, and she looked bewildered. 'What are you _on _about?'

Scorpius and Patricia shuffled Lily and the others down the stairs, leaving James, Cordelia and Albus standing together.

'Oh, I'm pretty sure you know. I _told_ you I fancied you and you practically _cried_—this sod's forced into it by something my mates and I pulled, now you're upset and everything—he didn't even have the guts to—'

'—Oi!' Albus cut in. 'Don't speak to her like that; you _know_ the circumstances are different!'

Cordelia's eyes were surprised, but not opened wide. They were slightly narrowed. 'James, what's _wrong_ with you?'

James groaned. 'I just don't see why you're over here _pandering_ Al because he's been fancying you but never had the guts to say anything—'

'—I don't think it had anything to do with _guts_, James.' Cordelia cut across him. 'You said it yourself: he wasn't sure until after we started going out. Albus was being a good person by not telling someone and wrecking things.'

The Head Boy sighed. 'Oh, _Al_—always perfect. Perhaps you and Poppins here should just shack up and leave me out of it,' he muttered.

Cordelia gasped, and Albus looked disgusted; clearly even _he_, who was used to his brother's wild mouth and raging antics, thought this was a step too far. James seemed to have realized what he said.

'Cordelia, I swear to Merlin—I didn't mean th—'

She held up a hand to silence him. 'Don't,' she said simply. 'I'm sorry.'

And then, with one last misty-eyed look at the boys, Cordelia turned on her heel and hurried off to lunch.

'Nice job,' Albus told James.

James glared at him. 'Get out of it!'

Seventeen-year-old boys do stupid things when they're jealous.

* * *

_**December 7**_

* * *

Cordelia didn't speak to James or Albus the next day. They both tried their best; James even followed her to the common room, before Will Bowen came out and said that he should probably leave.

Meanwhile, the mistletoe continued to spread its magic. At least fifteen girls who weren't Patricia most wanted to kiss Scorpius; more than ten boys would have killed to be in Fred's place. Wood had been side-stepping mistletoe after he had to run into a girls lavatory to escape the public seeing the name that printed above his head, and Rose had been holed up in her dormitory whenever she had the chance.

Andy—who, quite begrudgingly, had _Albus Potter_ printed on her—sought refuge in the kitchens, and Jenna followed simply to tease her about it. Roxanne had resorted to taking long, solitary walks around the grounds. Lottie and Melissa were both hiding out, in the same way that Felix Thomas was avoiding Elena Finnigan, and vice versa.

Four girls had asked Albus to Slughorn's Christmas Party, but he had rejected them all; not because he was still hung up on Cordelia—what a fat lot of good that had caused them all—but because he didn't want to have to worry about anything other than getting through the rest of the year alive.

Shelley had taken to finding mistletoe wherever she could, and engaging in very vulgar activity with her still-boyfriend McCormick, even though his arm bared a different name to the girl he was kissing. Venice watched with a glare.

Hogwarts was, in short, growing madder with every passing minute.

* * *

_**December 8**_

* * *

'Come on,' said Wood, 'cheer up, mate.'

The Head Boy had been moping for the better part of 48 hours. Cordelia still wasn't speaking to him—she went everywhere surrounded by friends, though she _did_ throw quite a few furtive glances in James's directions before said friends forced her to look away—and he had had far too many occurrences of her name showing up above his head because she hadn't been around to remove the words from his arm.

On the slightly positive side, it had stopped fifth-years from asking him to take them to Slughorn's Christmas Party.

'It's almost _Christmas_,' Felix Thomas put in. He was drawing sketches of mistletoe, which did nothing to improve anyone's mood. 'Shouldn't you be happy and that?'

James groaned, but Fred rolled his eyes at this. 'I'm sad for you, mate,' he said, 'but really—you screwed this up: not her, not Al—you.'

'I was jealous! You didn't see the way she was looking at him! Like he'd been diagnosed with a deadly disease!'

'So tell her!' Wood cried. 'For Merlin's sake—_please_! I'm sick of you pitying yourself and acting as though everything's tragic.'

The other boys stared at him.

'Because of your rotten mistletoe idea,' Wood continued, 'I've had to run into bathrooms and broom cupboards—I even had to stick my head out the window of Charms class! So that no one will see who the bloody hell has her name on my damn arm!'

Under normal circumstances, this would have been the point where all the boys in the dormitory fell about laughing. But in case it wasn't clear, the circumstances _weren't_ normal. James agreed with Chris on the mistletoe front; it had been a brilliant excuse to kiss Cordelia, but now that he couldn't... the whole thing had been mental, and he wanted it over.

If anything, the attention of the week should have been focused on the fact that—oh_ Merlin_—Fred and Barbara were finally together. There was another thing to add to the list of Things James Potter Wanted Himself Murdered For: stealing the attention away from the most long-awaited relationship since the beginning of time. But then he decided that hating himself wasn't helping anyone, and he tried to stop moping. At least _Fred_ was getting something good out of the prank.

'Are you all right?'

Fred looked up, raising his eyebrows. 'Are you seriously asking _me_ this?'

James nodded stupidly.

'I'm more than all right—hell, I'm set for life. I get to kiss Barbs every other minute. But what I _don't_ think is all right is the fact that the only couple who're getting anything positive out of this is me and her.'

'I don't know,' Felix admitted, 'that Malfoy and his girlfriend seem pretty pleased about it, too.'

Wood cursed and lunged under his pillows. A glowing red light issued from inside as the other boys in the dormitory turned around to watch. Chris removed his head from the pillows and glared at Fred and James. 'It's all that damn mistletoe about,' he said.

'You're only supposed to light up once a day,' James told him.

Fred raised his eyebrows. 'Perhaps this bird you want to kiss is someone you want to kiss _bad_.'

For some reason, Wood blushed, and then went back to busying himself with menial tasks like straightening the letters his parents had written. Quentin, who had been quiet and forgotten in the corner up until this point, told the boys that he would rather the mistletoe business just be over. It was causing more strife than decency.

And that night, the four Gryffindors who had caused the mayhem set out to put it right.

* * *

_**December 9**_

* * *

Scorpius handed Patricia her revised assignment. 'Do you solely fancy me because I help you with your homework?'

Patricia replied, 'of course.' She paused a moment. 'We've been over this—it's the intelligence and the generosity. You're a very able gift giver, if I may say so myself.'

'I _do_ enjoy pampering you,' he admitted, to which Patricia grinned.

They were due to breakfast in ten minutes. The common room was bustling with activity, but no one was interested in what anyone else in another group had to say. A group of first-years in the corner were observing Scorpius and Patricia's interaction, but that was the extent of the attention they received.

'Did you hear about what that Harris girl did to Hugo Weasley?'

Scorpius shook his head and turned away from the _Daily Prophet_ he had picked up. Patricia began to explain. It took her a while to, for she was so full of vicious rage that someone would even _dare_ take advantage of Hugo Weasley like that. Granted, Patricia wasn't a particularly close family friend by anyone's terms, but the redheaded fourth-year had always seemed like such a kind, innocent person—more so than any of his cousins; or his _sister._ She was swearing by the end.

'I wanted to find him,' she finished, 'I would've kissed him myself if that had been what it took!'

Scorpius looked alarmed. 'Am I being deserted for a _fourteen_-year-old?'

Patricia shook her head. 'No. Of course not. I'm just angry, is all.'

Slytherins began to file out of the common room in the direction of the Great Hall, and Scorpius and Patricia stood, following the sea of students. A pair of gossipy third-years were talking about Gryffindor house, and another cluster of fifth-years were staking their claim on who James Potter would date next, now that "his relationship with that Gilbert bird is almost _certainly_ over". Scorpius and Patricia looked at each other and rolled their eyes simultaneously. Neither group had half an idea what they were talking about.

Ruby, Venice and—though they did not really want her—Kathryn sat a bit further up the table, giving Scorpius and Patricia the privacy they had entered the Hall with. The pair of Prefects checked their fore-arms, but even though they had come in contact with several mistletoe branches on their way up to the Great Hall, there were no words to be found. People up and down the table seemed to be noticing the same thing.

At Ravenclaw table, everybody was looking around at one another, baring their left arms for all to see: they, too, were blank. The same was true for Hufflepuff, and on the other side of the Great Hall, Gryffindor.

'Think the charm wore off?' Scorpius asked his girlfriend.

She shrugged. 'It was causing more harm than good.'

Patricia began to spread jam across the piece of toast she had just finished buttering. 'Have you spoken to Albus, then?'

Scorpius swallowed a gulp of pumpkin juice and nodded. 'Wasn't much of a talk, though—poor bloke's worried he's ruined a friendship.'

'I think more than that's been ruined,' said Patricia, glancing over her shoulder at where Cordelia sat, forcing laughs and faking smiles.

Scorpius followed her gaze to the Ravenclaw table. 'She'll get over it,' he said. 'It's not as though Potter's'—by this, he meant "James"; for he and Albus were on good enough terms to address each other by their first names—'got a pocket full of sunshine, either.'

'Do you think they've really broken up?'

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. 'After all he—apparently—went through to get her? Potter's annoyingly robust: he'll hold on.'

Patricia bit into her toast and considered it. From what she knew of James Potter, he sounded practically perfect. A bit whorish in the beginning, perhaps—but otherwise, he seemed a good suit for Cordelia. She was almost flawless as well; minus the fact that she had a knack for taking everything quite personally...

They had been happy not a week ago. Just goes to show how temperamental teenage love affairs can be.

But perhaps this was more than a "teenage love affair". She didn't mean this like "oh they're so perfect together it _has_ to be true love!"; it was that _more_ had happened than just a fight between James and Cordelia. Albus—poor Albus, who hadn't done anything wrong—had been forced into admitting his feelings for Cordelia. In a public setting! And two brothers fancying the same girl... it was a story told many times, without a doubt, but it didn't involve fighting for her affections this time. And, as far as Patricia knew, Albus had been trying to get over Cordelia.

The whole thing made Patricia's head hurt. Though probably not as much as her heart.

* * *

'He just wants to talk to her. Come on—please?'

Fred was done bargaining. He and Barbara were supposed to be hanging out together, and everything was supposed to be jolly good in that moment, but because the stubborn, damn Ravenclaws didn't want James communicating with Cordelia. It seemed that the whole house had barricaded its walls from anyone who might bring up contact. To Fred, it seemed childish. If there was a problem, running away wouldn't solve it!

He rapped his knuckles against the entryway again, ignoring the bronze doorknocker. Cordelia herself opened the door to the common room.

'James wants to talk to you!' Fred said quickly, for fear she would shut the door in his face.

'Is it an apology?'

Fred set his jaw. 'Of course it is! He was trying to apologize before the fight had even ended! Look—Cordelia—no, don't go—listen: James was jealous. He was jealous of how you were treating Al. He felt like you would've rather gone out with Al if you'd known how he felt about you.'

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. 'He seems to have confided a lot in you,' she said, as though it were just an observation. 'But if James is feeling so strongly, why can't he tell me himself?'

'You've made it a bit difficult, you know.'

He gestured around to the corridor, and to the doorway in which Cordelia still stood. 'You're surrounded by people wherever you go.'

She blushed. 'I told Sarah it was a mental idea.'

Fred blinked.

Cordelia elaborated: 'She and Bridget said that it would be a good idea for me to walk everywhere in a cluster of people, so that if James wanted to speak to me, he'd have to go through them.'

Again, Fred blinked. Then he cried, 'How in the hell was he supposed to figure that out? James is a _bloke_, not some hopeless second-year girl! Seriously! _Insane_!'

Cordelia chuckled, but she said quickly, 'this isn't me forgiving him—even though there's not much to apologize for in the first place. If James wants to sort things out, tell him to grow a pair and do it.'

Fred departed thinking Cordelia Gilbert was a bit cooler than he had thought.

* * *

_**December 10**_

* * *

It was Friday, but nobody felt relaxed. The final legs of the term were upon them: in eight days, the Hogwarts Express would be departing for London, and the students on it for a three week holiday; Slughorn's Christmas Party was less than a week away. Most people had dates—Fred and Barbara, Scorpius and Patricia, Albus had decided that asking someone would get him out of the constant scheduled attacks and so Andy was going with him as a friend, Rose had threatened to hex anyone who asked her and was therefore going alone, while Lottie, Liz, and Melissa all moped, for none of them had been invited and none of them had dates.

'Go with McLaggen,' Liz told Lottie in Charms. 'He's got an invitation and as far as I know, nobody's nabbed him yet.'

'He's an idiot, though!'

'Well, at least you'd be in the door,' Liz said wisely.

Lottie _did_ end up asking McLaggen, and his answer had been a non-committal "yeah, all right". She didn't care how unenthusiastic he was: at least she was getting into the party. That was the whole point—she could run off to spend the time with Rose as soon as she got there, anyway!

James had been receiving sixteen offers a day, because everybody assumed he and Cordelia wouldn't be getting back together, but he declined the lot, and seemed to enjoy doing it. Cordelia, he noticed, hadn't said "yes" to anyone, either.

Over dinner, when he saw her moping, Will Bowen told Cordelia that _he_ would take her if she was desperate. She declined, thanking him for the nice gesture, saying she didn't want to ruin his chances with whichever girl it was he fancied over a few false assumptions. This wasn't her trying to get out of it by any means—Will was very, _very _attractive—but at least if her love life had taken a turn for the worst, she wouldn't be dampening anyone else's.

Bridget Davies had decided to be nice and ask Alexander Smith if he wanted to go to the party/Ball with her. She felt like it was the least she could have done after Potions class that Monday. The boy looked incredibly excited and seemed to be trying not to break out in raucous hoots of exhilaration.

'Awfully nice thing for you to have done,' Shelley commented. 'It's really quite charitable of you.'

Bridget didn't like her tone, but she didn't tell her so.

Victoire made a trip up to Hogwarts that night. Dominique had got an owl from James that said he couldn't get through to Cordelia, no matter how enthusiastic he was about doing it, and so the eldest Weasley child had taken it upon herself to do something about it. She had to do a bit of asking around to find out where Cordelia was, but when she _did_ find her up in the library, things went down quite easily.

She asked Cordelia just why things had taken such a hard turn with James, and Albus, and the Ravenclaw relayed the events of the sixth, telling Victoire that the whole thing had just gotten blown out of proportion and that there really wasn't that much of a problem. Which, of course, was an answer Victoire wouldn't take.

She pressed Cordelia, and then explained James's part of it. The jealousy: yes, she had to stress that he had only been jealous and that he was a seventeen-year-old lad and things like this happened quite a lot in the great scheme of things but no it didn't mean that he cared any less for her. The two of them were on quite good terms by the end of it and—James—having seen his cousin talking to Cordelia in the library on the Marauder's Map, showed up right on cue.

He was quite surprised when his (sort-of-still-)girlfriend came up and gave him a hug, but it was the pleasant kind of surprise. A reprieve of the best kind. He clung onto her back, feeling the silky light brown hair against his hands; he kissed her forehead stalwartly and then noticed Victoire, standing behind and watching them.

'Thank you so much,' James said over Cordelia's shoulder. 'I don't know quite what you said, but it worked.'

Cordelia chuckled into James's arm.

It had happened in the short course of a day, and were it anyone else's life, it would have seemed rather rushed, but things were _at last_ turning out all right—and that's what mattered.

* * *

_**December 11**_

* * *

Rose noticed the slightly uncomfortable atmosphere that Cordelia and Albus gave off as they talked. Things were back to all-right with James, but things were a bit strained for those two. And it was realistically so—she had found out he fancied her; they were just meant to be mates!—but that didn't mean Rose didn't feel bad for Al.

She turned away from them when she heard someone familiar calling her name from the opposite direction. Her heart began to thud a little faster as Will approached; it wasn't that she fancied him, she just wanted to appear personable. Rose smiled.

'Hey,' she said.

'Hey,' Will echoed. 'This Christmas Ball thing's a bit mental,' he said.

Rose nodded. 'I've had about seventeen invitations.'

'Find anyone you liked?'

'Nah,' she dismissed. 'I didn't really know any of them anyway. I think I'll go alone.'

Will raised his eyebrows. 'Alone? At _Christmas_? That's a bit of a ghastly thought, isn't it?'

Rose shrugged. 'I'd go with someone as mates, but...' She raised her hands. No one had asked her as a mate. 'Who're you going with?'

'No one, as of yet.'

'No requests?' Rose asked, shocked.

Will shook his head. 'I've had a _couple_,' he said—_the boy's too modest_, thought Rose, _he's probably had about ten_—'but no one I really know well.'

'Wish people would stop asking you?'

Will nodded half-heartedly. 'A bit.'

Rose told him that he should just ask someone and get it over with; then no one would be bothering him. At this, Will promptly asked _Rose_.

'What?'

'You told me to ask someone and get it over with!' he protested.

Rose rolled her eyes, and then said, 'fine—fine, I'll go with you.'

Will looked at her. 'Doesn't have to sound so forced, does it?'

Rose laughed, hit him, and then sent him on his way.

* * *

_**December 12**_

* * *

Jeremy Peakes approached Lily on the stairs.

'Are you going to Slughorn's Christmas do?' he asked.

Lily shrugged. 'Probably.'

This was bound to turn into one of the invitations Lily had already turned down. She didn't want to go with anyone! It was Christmas! The point was to have _fun_! She had only just got Scorpius Malfoy's name off her arm—she didn't fancy him in the slightest, but he was well fit and mistletoe was more about kissing than anything else—and now she didn't want to have to waste time with blokes. On the whole, Lily cared more about_ Quidditch_.

As it turned out, Peakes _did_ ask her to the party. Lily scrunched up her face, trying to look as though she was considering it.

'Sorry, mate,' she told Peakes. 'I'm going alone.'

'All the more reason to go with me!' he tried.

Lily shook her head. 'No, Peakes. I'm going alone _by choice_.'

He accepted this fact very begrudgingly, and set off for dinner by himself.

* * *

Barbara laced her hand in Fred's. Dinner had finished about an hour ago, and now they were walking around the castle together, just dawdling. It sounded like a daft thing to seek enjoyment in doing, but in truth, the inside of the castle was much warmer than the outside; they didn't have to walk with coats if they stayed in.

The view wasn't sacrificed either: Barbara and Fred could see a massive expanse of the grounds out of the large Hogwarts windows. It was quite romantic, seeing as everyone else knew to leave them alone and creep past as quickly as they could.

'Five more days of term and then we're free,' Barbara mused. Neither of them had signed up to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays. Who could, when you had the Burrow to go back to?

Fred sighed. 'We've got to get through Slughorn's Christmas Party first.'

Barbara nudged her boyfriend, telling him, 'If you don't like it, don't go.'

'What—and let you be stolen by some burly Hufflepuff?'

The Head Girl giggled. 'I don't think any of _them_ will be after me, what with the way you punched Miles Clarke.'

Fred shrugged. 'Had to defend your honour, didn't I?'

They were joking, as they always had. It was nice like this—simple, so similar to the ease of before, and yet so completely different. She thought it was funny how things like that worked out.

Lots of people were now on the way back to their common rooms. Sunday night was usually a night where the toll of procrastination set in, and many people didn't get enough sleep, but thankfully Barbara had pushed Fred to finish his Astronomy homework and now they had all the time they could have wanted.

Well, technically, they had until nine o'clock.

* * *

_**December 13**_

* * *

Hugo was having trouble looking at Alana. He was having trouble looking at any girl, in perfect honesty; part of him couldn't believe how awful she had been, part of him felt as though the entire thing were his fault, and the remaining space simply wondered why he was still letting himself care after sixteen days. _Sixteen days_!

Not that he was counting or anything.

A few girls had asked him to Slughorn's Christmas Party. Most people just called it the Yule Ball these days. Neither term particularly excited Hugo—it was another occasion on which to embarrass himself and social activity really wasn't his strongpoint. He had instantly said no to the second-years who asked (ghastly thought, that); one fifth-year Ravenclaw had asked him, and it looked as though he'd be seeing stars for weeks if he said "no", but Rose dragged him off and he was, by no matter of speaking, saved from that ordeal.

This meant Hugo was dateless. And he would be, inevitably, unless he committed some disgusting incestuous act.

Gabbie Sterling, the Ravenclaw Seeker, hurried past with a couple of friends. They, too, were nattering on about the ball, but she didn't seem to be paying much attention—from the sound of her protests, she seemed just as forced into the occasion as Hugo did—and, momentarily, he was seized by the savage urge to ask her to be his date just so he wouldn't have to pretend to like the party at all.

But this idea was mental, so he didn't run with it.

* * *

'Still can't believe you're going with _Will Bowen_!'

Rose groaned, taking a moment of rest from her Potions homework to address the insane curly-haired girl opposite. 'Get a grip, Lottie. We've got this free hour for a reason.'

'Yes,' Lottie said succinctly. 'It's _free_.' She rolled over on her four-poster, looking at Rose upside down. 'So I want to hear about how you managed to snag the most delicious seventh-year Ravenclaw there is on offer.' A moment later, Lottie gave a little shriek and sat up like she had been stuck with a pin. 'He's a _Keeper_!' she cried.

Rose chuckled for the sake of her friend. 'Very funny,' she said dryly. 'You seem to forget the fact that we're only going together so no one else can ask us.'

Lottie's eyes opened wide. 'Who brought up the topic of the party first, again?'

The Prefect rolled her eyes as Liz and Melissa entered the dormitory. '_He_ did,' she admitted, her tone begrudging.

Melissa plopped herself down on the end of Rose's bed; her dark-eyed gaze switched from Lottie to Rose to Lottie to Rose in order to see how the conversation would pan out. Liz seemed disinterested in the subject of Will Bowen and ball invitations: she crossed the room to the window, under which sat a jug filled with water and a few different glasses. Liz picked one and poured water into it.

Cutting across the _oh Merlin Will Bowen_ conversation that Lottie had managed to uphold against Rose's wishes, Liz whined, 'I don't know what was going through their minds when they put a water jug in here—'

'—so we can have a drink?' Melissa suggested.

Liz rolled her eyes. 'If you'd let me _finish_,' she complained, 'it wouldn't have sounded so daft! My point is: anyone adequate enough with magic would easily be able to Transfigure this into something more _potent_, if they wished. I don't get the idea.'

Lottie, Melissa and Rose raised their eyebrows at one another.

'It's official,' said Melissa loftily. 'Liz has gone mental.'

* * *

_**December 14**_

* * *

The entirety of Tuesday revolved around Slughorn's Christmas Party: how dejected many girls were that James and Cordelia had reconciled, how disappointed many guys were that Fred and Barbara had gotten together at all. Nobody focused on lessons. The almost-ball was still a few days away—it was scheduled for Friday night, which was the evening before the Hogwarts Express departed for London—but as the hours rolled by, the anticipation of those with dates grew more and more insatiable.

The girls of the Slytherin dormitory were reaching the point of ignoring Venice, for she was so often brooding about Shelley and McCormick that it was almost like she didn't think anyone else's problems existed. It was an awful, depressing truth: Ruby and Patricia had grown to prefer Kathryn.

Rose and her Gryffindor peers were all somewhat excited; Lottie—even though she had only gained admission by asking a prick like McLaggen to be her date—was growing more and more impatient. Her mind was constantly occupied by thoughts of dresses and how she had three to choose from, but no one was bothering to help her in her decision.

Ravenclaw was bustling; Cordelia was the only girl _not_ constantly grooming herself in preparation for an event three days away. For one, she hadn't really packed a whole lot of "pretty", delicate garments—they wouldn't fit in her trunk with the books and Quidditch equipment—and for a while she hadn't even been sure if she wanted to go at all. Shelley had begun taking up the task of helping Slughorn, who was an aged wizard despite his personality, clean out his storage cupboards. It was a welcome breath of fresh air for a lot of people, because they didn't have to watch she and McCormick snog all the time.

* * *

_**December 15**_

* * *

Wednesday was much the same. Lessons, homework, romance; a grateful shortage of drama.

* * *

_**December 16**_

* * *

'I think you've spent less time with me since we started going out than you did when we were still just mates.'

Patricia and Scorpius sat side by side in Charms. It was a chilly afternoon, and snow had accumulated around the grounds of the castle almost overnight. It was falling in delicate flecks outside the window now; occasionally a snowflake would press itself against the glass and Patricia would watch it melt into a drop of water that cascaded in descent.

It was more interesting than what was going on in the classroom, and of that much she was certain.

Patricia shrugged her shoulders. 'We'll have plenty of time over the holidays.'

'The holidays...' mused Scorpius, sounding dreamy. 'It'll be brilliant to get out of here, even for a week or two.'

'I bet you can't _wait_ to get back to the Malfoy manner—and its hundreds of yards to grass in the middle of a whole lot of trees and—'

'—I don't live in a fairy palace,' Scorpius interjected, perfecting his Charm and making tiny Professor Flitwick look largely impressed. Patricia made an attempt and was moderately unsuccessful; Professor Flitwick avoided the shower of turquoise sparks and promptly moved over to assess Sarah Boot's admirable progress as Scorpius cackled uncontrollably into his jumper. Patricia hit him with her elbow.

'Be quiet, you!'

Scorpius raised his eyebrows and seemed to be thinking of something witty to say, but then his face collapsed into raucous laughter once more at the memory of Patricia's failed Charm.

Albus, who was sitting two people down, looked somewhat apologetic as he joined Scorpius in the shared humour; Patricia had tried the Charm again. Her results were progressing slightly, but they were still hilarious to those bright, wonderful classmates who had gotten things done immediately: the epitome of ease.

'So,' the Slytherins heard Rose say, 'Andy—I hear you're going to Slughorn's party with Al. Good of you to do that: you know, so the third-years would stop asking him.'

Andy was slow to smile. 'Oh,' she said slowly, 'of course. What are friends for?'

'I'm going with Will from Ravenclaw for the same reason,' Rose told her, but Lottie had heard and decided it was time to babble to Andy about how this probably wasn't the case and Will probably _fancied_ Rose—at this the Hufflepuff went a bit pink—and that this was only a way to go out with her.

Rose batted Lottie away and told Andy not to listen to her.

'Well,' said Scorpius, 'I'm incredibly sorry to admit it, Patricia—you know I love you; I really do—_but_... Rose wasn't the _worst _snog.'

Patricia scowled and told her boyfriend that the Weasley had better not be the _best_ snog; if she was, their relationship would not be progressing from that point on. Scorpius laughed and quipped, 'neither will your Charm!'

* * *

At dinner that night, everyone's conversation revolved—as it had for the basic entirety of that week—around the ball the next evening. There were first- and second-years complaining about how they couldn't go; third- and fourth-years wondering what it would be like this year and being somewhat unhappy about how none of the Weasleys they had asked had said "yes"; fifth-years were simply ecstatic about the prospect of perhaps _snogging_ their date (except for Roxanne, who wasn't going with anyone; the person she wanted to snog was dateless, too, but he would never kiss her); sixth- and seventh-years feeling like seasoned professionals, for it was they who had been attending the longest.

Hugo looked across the Great Hall and noticed Gabbie Sterling ignoring anyone who tried to speak to her about the party—it was easy to pick out in a crowd because he was doing the exact same thing—and then moved his gaze around to everybody else in the vicinity. They didn't seem to bothered by the subject.

He wished he never had to see Alana Harris again, and he wished that her kissing him for a bet hadn't bothered him as much as it did. He was sitting on the opposite side of the table now, but it still wasn't pleasant. She had tried to talk to him yesterday: it earned her a hard set of glares, from everyone in the common room who knew what she had done. Hugo included. Things were going to be strange for the next three and a half years, if he was stuck with Alana and unable to stop feeling as he did.

If it hadn't been his first kiss...

'Hugo.' Barbara touched his arm and pointed in Fred's direction: there was something his cousin wanted to say to him.

'Yeah?'

'Are you going to the party tomorrow night?' asked Fred.

'Well, Slughorn told me to.'

Fred set his cutlery down on the sides of his plate and addressed Hugo once more. 'Are you going by yourself?'

The fourth-year looked him right in the eyes. 'Do you _honestly_ think I've got anyone to go with?'

Fred and Barbara exchanged unhappy glances. The Head Girl said delicately, 'did you ask anyone?'

'No,' Hugo said, shaking his head. 'They wouldn't go with me, anyway.'

'Alana Harris is a bitch,' Barbara declared suddenly. It was the first time Hugo had ever heard her swear. 'And she doesn't deserve you, Hugo; she never did. Don't let her ruin your year.'

Hugo mumbled, 'how did you know?'

'I'm a girl,' said Barbara, at the same time Fred said, 'I'm your cousin.'

'I know you probably don't want a lecture...'

'But you're going to give me one anyway?' Hugo guessed.

Barbara nodded. She seemed to have finished dinner, for her plate was empty and she didn't move to take any more food from the platters in front of her. Fred did, but he was _Fred_.

'Your parents helped save our world, and I expect you're tired of hearing that'—Barbara looked at him knowingly when Hugo raised his eyebrows. He had forgotten that she had spent her entire life being Fred's best friend, and that she wasn't just another of his girlfriends now—'but the name Weasley carries a lot of weight. You're popular without meaning to be. And because your name means something... people will try to use it to make _themselves_ mean something.' Barbara's eyes flitted down the table. 'Do you think Alana Harris would have hurt you if you weren't Hugo _Weasley_?'

'She would've never given me a second look,' he admitted.

Barbara looked sad, but she continued nevertheless. 'It's not your fault, Hugo.'

'Wreah!' Fred agreed ardently, his mouth full of chicken. 'Brame ya pealance.'

Hugo and Barbara turned to him, both looking confused. Fred swallowed his food and amended: 'Yeah! Blame your parents.'

'For what?' asked Hugo. 'Saving the wizarding world?'

'Exactly!' Fred cried.

* * *

_**December 17**_

* * *

Lessons were over. They had made it through the day. Tomorrow, the Hogwarts Express would escort all the students necessary back to London, but for tonight: Slughorn's Christmas Party. Dinner was held in the Great Hall, but it was a rather rushed affair, as the Hall needed to be set up to accommodate the massive crowd of students who were invited to the festivities. Girls dashed back to their dormitories to fuss over dresses and make-up and looking perfect, and boys followed slowly behind. They didn't care too much about their dress robes or how they looked. They already _had_ dates, so why worry about it?

Lottie was hoping to pick up a new date—McLaggen, though not bad-looking, had been her ticket in and that was all—and therefore placed a lot of weight on what dress she was about to choose, and how she did her hair. Melissa and Liz, who had managed to scrape up dates in the forms of Louis and Nicholas Ashwood, a friend of Will's who hadn't managed to make the cut for Ravenclaw's Quidditch team but was otherwise not bad, forced Lottie into wearing a knee-length green dress and just pinning her hair back so it didn't blow out in her face; after that, they refused to bother with her.

Melissa had a floor-length maroon dress, glinting with tiny gemstones; Liz a light blue one that wasn't fancy except for a couple of ruffles. The real attraction in the dormitory that night was Rose.

She came out of the bathroom wearing a tight-fitting gold frock, reaching her knees as Lottie's did. It was made of some kind of material that swished out at the bottom when she moved; it would probably create quite a pretty display when she danced. Rose felt a tiny bit insecure in a thin-sleeved garment of any sort, but the looks she received from her friends told her that she looked fine. More than fine. Perhaps even fantastic.

'Who cares what we look like when Rose is over there pretending to be some kind of goddess?' Liz grumbled, putting a case of lipstick down onto her bedside table rather gruffly.

The others simply insisted that they were able to do her hair. Lottie pulled it down and it spilled over her shoulders, slightly curly. Then Melissa did some kind of manoeuvre with hair clips and Rose...

Well, apart from being completely lost in their world of cosmetics: Rose didn't even know she was Rose.

'Oh...'

'Say what you like, Will's not going to be "just going as your mate" after he sees you tonight.'

Rose slapped at Melissa for her remark before insisting that the other girls would have her help bountifully if they ever needed it.

* * *

Barbara had never looked any more beautiful.

Fred's thoughts were solely on her as he watched his girlfriend walk down the stairs from her dormitory. She had a crimson-coloured dress on and her hair was half pulled up and half swaying loose against her shoulders. The dress wasn't a gown, it was just for the party. Her black high heels matched the thin, almost invisible line that ran around Barbara's waistline. Fred almost had trouble breathing.

She blushed. 'You don't have to pretend. It's all I had.'

'I—I'm not—er—I'm—_pretending_? What? How is that even—? You—you look marvellous!'

Barbara's blush augmented. She bit her lip. 'Really?'

'Of course.'

James hurried past them in his black dress robes, looking back one more time when he realized who it was that Fred was standing beside. 'Damn, Decadence—if I didn't have Cordelia, I'd kill my cousin and steal his date without thinking twice.' Noticing Fred's look (which was stern and more than somewhat threatening), he added one more time, 'you look gorgeous, Barbs,' before hurrying off to meet Cordelia outside the Ravenclaw common room.

The Head Girl did a full twirl around in her dress, observing it for herself. She looked anxiously up at Fred. 'Do I really look all right?'

Fred stared at her. 'You're blind.'

'In a good or bad way?'

'Is not being able to see your own beauty counted as "bad" or "good"?'

Barbara laughed; and then she kissed him.

* * *

Patricia left the dormitory in the middle of an argument. Neither Venice nor Kathryn were invited to the party—Ruby had been asked by Nott in Potions, and she didn't see a reason to refuse, so that was that—and both girls were highly jealous. Instead of banding together and trying to have fun while the others were at Slughorn's Christmas Party, they had started fighting. Patricia wasn't even sure what it was about.

She pulled a few loose strands of hair behind her ears as she hurried down the stairs. Scorpius was sitting in front of the fire, facing the other way; even half-obscured, he was still more attractive than he should have been allowed to be. Patricia plopped herself down beside him. Her dress wasn't much, compared to the others she had seen: plain white, accented with pale green.

But Scorpius seemed to like it.

'Holy shit,' he said. It took him a few seconds, but then he repeated: '_holy shit_.'

He leaned in to kiss her quickly. When they broke apart, the time was seven-thirty. Together—Scorpius still marvelling at Patricia and her dress—they departed for the Great Hall.

* * *

The party had begun: a little half of the guests had arrived. Albus and Andy were among them; they had met in the Entrance Hall, he had told her she looked nice and she had replied that he didn't look too shabby, either. Both of them had a bottle of butterbeer in hand, and their attention was not on the music that was playing, nor Professor Slughorn who was edging his way towards them, but instead on the people entering. Albus turned his attention away momentarily, to investigate what the other occupants of the hall were doing, and Andy spoke quietly: 'try not to stare at her, will you?'

Albus's eyes darted to the door. There stood Cordelia, hand in hand with James. She easily looked as strapping as he did: a hard feat to accomplish. Her dress was cerulean and not too formal; she wasn't wearing high heels. Albus's breath hitched, but he didn't keep his eyes on her. James led her across the Great Hall to where Fred and Barbara were standing with a dateless, although definitely very handsome-looking Chris Wood.

Cordelia—because she was who she was, and that meant she had to, didn't she?—looked around the hall and found Albus's eyes. He had been determined not to let it happen. He hadn't even been looking at her, and yet by the divine power of the most certainly unfair universe, the two pairs of eyes crossed paths with one another.

It wasn't a long look, just long enough for her to give him a small smile and then continue on with her business; just long enough for him to escape the contact without Andy noticing and reprimanding him on it, even though he wouldn't have really understood what reason there was for Andy to care about whether or not he was staring at a girl.

Scorpius and Patricia arrived shortly after this moment. Almost immediately, they crossed the Great Hall to Albus and Andy, who was—at that point—raiding the dessert table that they had conveniently stationed themselves near. Scorpius and Albus exchanged grins.

'Nice dress,' Albus commented.

'Thank you! You know, I _was_ a little worried it'd be too tight around the ribcage; I mean, _honestly_, who wants to have trouble breathing at a Christmas Party, right?'

Patricia and Albus turned to look at Scorpius, for it was he who had spoken, and he had sounded quite serious doing it.

'Relax,' the Slytherin amended, 'I'm not as homosexual—nor as much of a cross-dresser—as I may sound.'

'Damn,' Albus joked.

'I know, Al—though as strong as our feelings may have been, I just don't think dear James could have handled it.'

'Screw James.'

'I thought the point was that I wanted you!'

Andy, who had finally managed to extract herself from the dessert table upon hearing of the boys' ill-fated love affair, looked around anxiously. 'Is there something we should know?'

Patricia sighed. 'It's not much of a surprise, actually,' she said in reference to her boyfriend's sexuality, 'I mean, the perfectly-tousled hair should've been a sign.'

* * *

Rose arrived a while after her friends did. She hadn't been sure where to meet Will—or if it was actually _necessary_ for her to meet him, because they were only really going together so they could say they had someone to go with—he hadn't been anywhere near Gryffindor tower, and so she made the trip to the Ravenclaw common room (or, rather, the area in which she had always imagined it was), also to no avail. Having not seen him, she decided to head down to the Great Hall alone.

And what a good decision that had been.

There was Will, standing in the Entrance Hall, checking his watch for what was probably the fifteenth time, considering his lazy stance. Rose's pace down the stairs quickened as a guilty lurch took up residence in her stomach.

'I'm sorry I'm late!' she said, hurrying across the hall to reach him.

'Don't worry ab...'

It was as though the words caught in his mouth. Will stared at her; he blinked a few times, like his vision was clouded, and then said (in a tone Rose would later tell Lottie had been "practically breathless"), 'you clean up rather well, don't you, Rose Weasley?'

Rose felt a blush creeping up her face and hoped her cheeks weren't as red as her hair. She grinned at Will. 'I try my best.'

Still looking a bit gobsmacked, the Ravenclaw gestured to the lavishly decorated Great Hall. The doors were open in front of them, and it looked as though the party was about to get properly going.

The band was playing a fast-paced song. Rose looked around as she and Will entered the large room; there were lots of couples dancing: Fred and Barbara were doing a quickened version of some ballroom variant in which Barbara did a lot of spinning and Fred an awful lot of grinning; Molly and Archie moving hastily in small, rhythmic motions that Rose thought looked kind of awkward but to each their own; James and Cordelia whirling each other around and doing overly dramatic movements with their arms and legs; Scorpius and Patricia executing some kind of mosh that others gave a wide berth, fearing loss of limb.

Rose's friends were on a different side of the Great Hall to Will's and so she though that this would be the time of separation. Surely he didn't want to spend time with her cousins and roommates; Rose had never even _met_ most of his friends.

The same dilemma was, apparently, on Will's mind. He turned to Rose and said, 'I know that we said we'd just come as mates—you know, have it be _whatever_, but—er—do you want to dance?'

Rose nodded without thinking about it. They were on the edge of the dance-floor, but the upbeat song of their arrival was showing tell-tale signs of coming to an end. _With my luck_, she thought,_ they'll be playing a bloody slow song next_.

And, as was the case with Al minutes earlier, the universe had decreed that it would give Rose Weasley precisely what she didn't think was good for her.

'Oh,' said Will, hearing the slow introduction of the loving melody. He turned to Rose. 'You know—if you don't want to dance to this, it's fine. I'd totally understand.'

She shrugged. 'I don't particularly mind. I mean, it's this song as any, isn't it?'

Will nodded and walked with Rose side-by-side to where most of the other guests were clutching onto their dates. For a moment, the two of them just awkwardly swayed to the music, before deciding that it was probably better to actually do something more than just stand there and feel uncomfortable.

'This is terribly _romantic_, isn't it?' Will commented, though Rose couldn't really concentrate on anything except the tiny sparks of energy that seemed to be issuing from where Will's hands held her waist. 'For a Christmas do?'

Rose tried her best to look nonchalant. 'I suppose so; though I'm not even sure why I come to these things anymore.'

'Why wouldn't you?'

The fact that he had asked a proper question, with a genuinely curious or meaningful tone was astounding to Rose in a way that even she couldn't put her finger on. For some reason, it touched her.

'Always so many couples around—Christmas shouldn't be about snogging, you know?'

Will nodded, his eyes resting on a point above their heads; Rose supposed that the night sky must have looked very beautiful that evening.

'What about in terms of mistletoe, though?' asked Will. 'Isn't that a point for snogging at Christmas, what with all the old myths?'

The song came to the point of an triumphant, reconciling chorus that always came before the end. Rose looked at her partner—Will Bowen really_ was_ an intriguing sight under the light of Professor Slughorn's decorations. The tumultuous colours given off by the streamers above danced across his face at a somewhat faster and more lively way than the current song allowed he and Rose to.

'Want to know something interesting about mistletoe?' Rose asked.

'Sure.'

'The plant's actually a parasite.'

'Ah,' said Will, nodding as though he found this interesting.

'Funny that something associated with people kissing is parasitic,' Rose contemplated.

The next song was slow, too, and though they had only agreed on one dance, neither Will nor Rose made to move away. It was a while before either of them spoke: both of their minds had been on other things—Rose's, in particular, was focused on Hugo across the hall, who was eyeing an equally bored Gabbie Sterling with something that looked almost like appreciation ; whatever Will was thinking of, she didn't know.

Though perhaps he made it obvious when he began to speak again.

'Want to know something interesting about mistletoe?' he queried, echoing Rose's earlier question.

The Gryffindor, deciding to play along, said, 'Sure.'

Will looked up. Then, with the perfect tone of a warm, fuzzy conclusion, he told Rose: 'There's an entire branch above our heads.'


	26. Bittersweet from Beginning to End

**Disclaimer:** Credit goes to the woman who wrote more about Albus's father; and also to Andrew Garfield and his fantastic _everything_ for restoring my faith in humanity.

**AN:** I was just watching golf (as you do) and there was a bloke on it named _Ted Potter, Jr._ — _Ted. Potter. (Jr.)_! I would've uploaded this more quickly but (a) it's a _very_ long chapter—over fifteen thousand words—and (b) my parents _banned me from the internet_ for a while, because I was being a normal teenager. Oh! What do you ship from PWMS? If you leave a review, tell me that! Is it canon? Isn't it? And if you want to send in a confession about the fic or its characters to the PWMS blog, then that would be just absolutely totally balderdash-ing-ly wonderful, too. (Oh and I had to improvise with Victoire's middle name. Many apologies.)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

"**Bittersweet from Beginning to End"**

**Or**

"**Breathing in the snowflakes".**

* * *

_**December 18**_

* * *

Breakfast was—as always—a wonderful occasion. The food was superb, even though many students didn't attend the feast. A lot of these people were those who had attended Slughorn's Christmas Party the night before and had not bothered to pack up their trunks. Such was the case with Lottie, Louis, James and Felix Thomas of Gryffindor; all four would have preferred to be down at breakfast with their classmates—Felix told James that he would gladly have taken absolutely nothing home with him—but, with their lack of productivity, it didn't look this would be a possibility.

Down in the Great Hall, conversation was buzzing. Rose was being interrogated by anyone close enough to speak about what had happened with her just-a-friend date Will Bowen at Slughorn's Christmas Party; over at the Ravenclaw table, a similar thing was happening to Will, though he was refusing to comment on the subject with anyone but Cordelia, who had given him the good advice to go for it in the first place.

After breakfast, the students returned to their delegated common rooms to get their bags and return to the Entrance Hall. This was the location at which all dramatic goodbyes would take place, between those who were going back to London and those staying at Hogwarts over the holidays.

By this time, everybody who had been upstairs packing their bags through the earlier meal was finished doing so; down in the Entrance Hall, James was complaining about the lack of food in his stomach (and had been doing so for about fifteen minutes, much to the dismay of those nearby).

'There'll be food on the train,' Albus told him tiredly.

'I still don't understand why you didn't bring me something from the feast.'

'It would've looked odd carrying food out of the Great Hall,' the sixth-year protested.

James looked Albus up and down with raised eyebrows. He turned away in feigned disgust. 'I can't believe we're brothers.'

'Why don't you just go to the kitchens?'

'That's it—you're excommunicated.'

'What are you going on about, James?'

'Don't pretend you don't know, Albus-who-is-no-longer-my-brother-or-another-relation-of-any-kind.'

'You know—somehow—I think that nickname might be worse than "Peps",' Albus told him. 'The first one wasn't twenty-one syllables, for one thing.'

At this sarcastic remark, James turned away. His brother watched him go: presumably off to bother Wood or someone with whom the Head Boy shared a similar kinship. The large group of students who were meant to be returning to London forty-five minutes were herded together by Professor Longbottom; there was much screeching of owls and hissing of cats, but this was ignored while the hundreds of teenagers were instructed on how to proceed down to Hogsmeade Station.

* * *

Albus and Louis filed into a carriage with Hugo and a Ravenclaw by the name of Reed Connery, who—if the three Gryffindors were not mistaken —played Beater on his house's Quidditch team. He, like Hugo, was in fourth year, and the two of them seemed to be on relatively good terms.

'I know this'll probably sound strange,' Reed began, leaning forward so to address Albus, who was the only member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team in the carriage, 'but I'd just like to say congratulations on the opening match against Slytherin—I know it's been a month or so,' he amended quickly, 'but I haven't had the opportunity to say it before.'

'Oh,' said Albus. He hadn't really been suspecting that Connery had been intending to converse on that topic at all, though he was much more pleased it was related to Quidditch instead of some rather embarrassing events of late. 'Well, thanks—you played really well against Hufflepuff: Ravenclaw wouldn't have won if it weren't for you.'

Reed looked a mixture of grateful and abashed, but he neglected to respond with more than a "thank you".

James Potter was an impeccable snog. The Ravenclaw's eyes followed the Head Boy across the platform at Hogsmeade Station to the train, onto which he was now loading up his trunk. She admired the arches of his muscular shoulder blades, the rugged swish of his decidedly unruly hair: even the angle of his perfect nose as it trailed down in the direction of his lips augmented a spark of desire into full-blown lust.

Though Shelley Corner probably would have been able to enjoy this view a lot better if she wasn't pressed against the side of the Hogwarts Express with Dylan McCormick placing kisses down her neck.

She had realized—after eight weeks of steady activity with the Slytherin—that, as much as she wanted to feel something for him, she simply _didn't_. Their arrangement was succeeding somewhat, but it was primarily because _she_ was amidst plotting how to get James away from Cordelia _sodding_ Gilbert, and _he_ was trying to make Higgs jealous. The latter portion of the plan had been working from the get-go, however Higgs still refused to talk to either of them and so no changes in their plans had been made.

'Do you want to get on the train or something?' asked McCormick, taking a moment between kisses to address his "girlfriend".

Shelley's eyes flickered over to James, who was waving in response to his girlfriend's gesture as the tall girl climbed aboard. 'Sounds all right to me.'

'Do you want to sit with your mates?'

_I'm_ _Shelley Corner_, she thought to herself, _I don't _have _mates_.

Things _were_ somewhat improving with the girls of Ravenclaw and their relationship with Shelley, though. The main reason for this was that the other four no longer believed that she was trying to steal James Potter away from his girlfriend; an argument which was weighted, entirely, on how many times they saw her snogging McCormick.

Instead of bringing this point to light, however, Shelley said this: 'Do you want to sit with _yours_?'

They climbed onto the train now, filing past squadrons of first-years who all babbled excitedly when the two of them walked by. McCormick made some kind of movement, but Shelley was in front of him and therefore couldn't see.

'I wouldn't mind it,' he admitted.

'All right,' said Shelley.

She ignored the fact that McCormick looked surprised—for Merlin's sake: she _wasn't_ clingy; in fact it was _he_ who kept her about—and told him, 'I'm going to find Bridget and the others.'

It shouldn't have been _too _difficult. She had seen them (well, she had seen_ Cordelia_) getting into the train an entrance or two over, so if she was realistic—which Shelley Corner, despite all her other ineptitudes, inclined herself to be —they couldn't be too far away. Of course, there was always the possibility that James or some other kind of boyfriend would be there, but if it were the Head Boy, she didn't really think to mind. It was easily a social setting in which to converse (and many other things that Shelley would keep in her manipulative, calculating mind); her being there wouldn't be hindrance to anyone. If it was, then it wasn't as though she was the worst in her dormitory—at least she would have the consideration to let them join.

_God, Shelley; stop over-thinking this. You're turning into a Hufflepuff_.

McCormick kissed her goodbye, and then Shelley hurried ahead to find her friends. Or roommates. "Roommates" was easily the more true description.

* * *

Scorpius and Albus sat opposite the girls. They wondered what it looked like to outsiders: two blokes, practically polar opposites, sitting in a compartment holding hands. It was enough to make people question their heterosexuality, for one thing; that was the entire purpose of the gesture. Patricia, Ruby and Andy could barely breathe: they had dissolved into raucous bellowing laughter the moment Peps and Rocky clasped hands. (The aforementioned hilarity had increased doubly with the interlacing of fingers, until the three girls could barely breathe at all.)

Louis appeared outside the compartment, having gone to see Rose for the confirmation that her family, too, would be venturing to the Burrow; he looked concernedly at Scorpius and his cousin. The Slytherin raised his eyebrows cockily, and Albus shrugged.

'Is this how you plan to break it to the family, Al?'

'Might it be a bit subtle, Lou?'

Louis shook his head. 'No, it's not that.' He turned his attention to Scorpius and sat down in the seat Patricia had slid along to vacate for him. 'The may, however, think your boyfriend's a bit of a tart.'

Scorpius feigned shock and gasped. 'How _dare_ you?'

'Well, it's not as though you're his first Weasley, Al,' said Louis regretfully. He shot a glance at Patricia, but she didn't look too bothered. Scorpius shrugged.

'Practice makes perfect.'

* * *

The Hogwarts Express pulled into King's Cross Station at around six o'clock in the evening. There were masses of parents already on the platform, eager to meet their children for what was the first time in three months, but in the case of the vast Weasley family—and a few others; on of whom was, quite conveniently, Cordelia Gilbert (and her _Mitchell_, but he had another little mate to talk to)—there was no one there to greet them, for it was by the Knight Bus that they would be returning home.

The family of ten—that was the sum of the Weasley relatives currently attending Hogwarts—looked quite odd walking through King's Cross Station with their vast amounts of luggage and, in the case of a few of them, animals. There were at least six owls and one cat; the stares they achieved from Muggles on account of owning these pets easily tripled the number.

Rose, Louis, and Albus hung together in conversation about the Transfiguration assignment they had been given; Roxanne, Fred and Lily discussing Quidditch and the upcoming game against Ravenclaw; Molly and Lucy in whispers about what their mother had written and instructed them to do; James striding up ahead like the automatic leader, deep in conversation with the aforementioned Cordelia Gilbert.

'So I'm expected at your house on...?'

'Tuesday,' reminded the Ravenclaw, sidling past a rushed commuter. The woman almost crashed into Hugo's trunk in her hurry to get past, and her face as she encountered an owl made the wizards around her chuckle.

'At midday?'

Cordelia nodded.

The two of them emerged from the station into the blustering, frosty air of London. Both gave an involuntary shiver as James's relatives caught up.

'Where'd you say the Knight Bus would be, Molly?' The Head Boy called back.

There was a slight scuffling sound, as though Molly was going through her bag for a scroll of parchment.

'Just step onto the curb,' she instructed, 'and...'

She didn't finish. There was no need to. As soon as James stepped forward onto the curb, a thin purple double-decker rocketed into a rather shaky parallel park in front of him. Some weedy youth with an unfortunate case of acne stepped out and addressed them.

'Welcome to the Knight Bus,' he said. 'This here bus is transport for any witch or... blimey,' he uttered, looking up for the first time and realizing who it was standing in the street. 'You're them Weasley kids, aren't you?' His eyes focused on the girl standing beside James. 'And you're that bird what I saw in the _Prophet_—his girlfriend, yeah? Clancy Someone?'

'Cordelia,' James and Albus corrected.

'Oh—yeah, of course.'

The young man clambered off the bus and opened a compartment in the side, in which the students placed their luggage (with the exception of the ever-popular six owls and one cat). They climbed aboard: the walls of the bus were magically stretched, and since it was getting on into the evening, there were beds lining the area. Four of the six vacant ones were then occupied by Hogwarts students, sitting side-by-side (no matter what innuendos were made about other uses of the beds).

'The Burrow,' Fred told the seedy bloke who had introduced them —unnecessarily—to the Knight Bus.

The other students on board leaned forward and gave their addresses: James's girlfriend lived just outside of London, and would therefore be dropped off first.

'Too bad about old Ernie, eh?' James said to his cousins.

They nodded in mourning: Ernie had been the ancient driver of the Knight Bus; though wizened, he still had a quite good taste in music, playing not only wizard bands but Muggle ones like The Beatles, who the Weasley children had deemed "wizards in their own right". Because of Ernie, there had stemmed many an argument about who in the family was John, Paul, Ringo or George. (James had insisted that he was Paul, though almost everyone else had claimed he was John; _Albus_ was made Paul, Hugo was made Ringo, and—for the purpose of irony more than any other—Fred was declared George. Louis was almost grateful not to be part of the whole affair: Roxanne branded him Pete Best for his non-participation, however; so he had not managed to escape the event in even the most infinitesimal of ways.)

The ride out to the edge of London was raunchy—though not in the way most people would have liked it to be—and full of jerks—though perhaps people appreciated the meaning of _this_ statement not being what it was usually associated with—there were lots of complaints and dizzy spells. But eventually, everybody arrived at Cordelia's front gate in one piece. The lights were on inside and as the Knight Bus pulled up, the door to the house opened and two people—both tall—who were presumably the Ravenclaw's parents hurried out to meet their daughter.

James, being the heart-warming, chivalrous gentleman he was, exited the bus with his girlfriend and her little brother to help them with their luggage. Once this job was finished, he kissed her quickly—a gesture not witnessed by young Mitchell, for he had run ahead—and said, 'I'll see you on Tuesday.'

Cordelia smiled. 'I'm looking forward to it.'

He stepped back inside the bus and she hurried her trunk over to where her parents were standing with one of their children; they embraced their daughter in turn as the bus pulled away.

* * *

The Burrow had had an extension built with the coming of grandchildren. It was now twice as wide and much more accommodating—all of Arthur and (the first) Molly's children, and their children would be attending Christmas this year. And, of course, Teddy Lupin and his grandmother would be calling in briefly, too.

Once the ten Hogwarts-age Weasleys arrived at their grandparents' house, it was almost pitch-black and very late at night. There was only just time for a small portion of dinner and a hasty reunion before they headed off to bed, thoroughly exhausted.

* * *

_**December 19 & 20**_

* * *

Hugo Weasley awoke in the small, misshapen room on the left wing of the third floor of the Burrow, shivering and disoriented. He had three layers of warm blankets on, which didn't quite explain his coldness; looking over at Louis and Albus, who were on bunk beds, things were explained.

Both of the other boys were cold, too, and they seemed to have been conducting a conversation on the topic of this since long before Hugo woke up.

When Albus noticed that their younger cousin was awake, he snarled, 'James and Fred put a bloody Cooling Charm on our room.'

'When I come of age...' Louis threatened, not finishing what was obviously a very dark, vengeful thought.

Hugo pulled his blankets off himself and ignored the hideous cold. Opening the door was like a breath of fresh air. Or, rather, heated air. Louis and Albus followed Hugo down the stairs to the kitchen, where James and Fred were eating French toast that Aunt Fleur had prepared before she headed out for work. At the sight of them, both boys burst out laughing.

'It's not bloody _funny_,' Al said indignantly.

'Yes it is!' Fred argued.

'You should see your _face_, Peps! Practically _frozen_!'

'I hate being your brother.'

'You're not, though—I disowned you back at school, remember?'

Louis crossed the room to his mother's French toast as Lily, Roxanne and Rose came downstairs. The girls had been in the room below Hugo's, and all three were wearing thick dressing gowns.

'You two put a charm on the boys' room, didn't you?' said Rose.

James and Fred nodded proudly.

'Well,' Roxanne told them, 'make sure it stays where it's meant to next time—our room just started getting freezing, too.'

'Icicles on the windowsill,' Lily confirmed, taking a plate of French toast as Louis dished one out. Rose and Roxanne followed, and then Louis returned to the long dining table with his cousins while Al and Hugo served themselves.

'You'll have these perks one day,' said Fred, 'once you turn seventeen.'

'Not long now,' Al told him. 'Give me a couple of months—I'll get you back if Louis doesn't do it first.'

'I'm counting on you two to manage it for a month before I can,' Rose affirmed.

'We'll have no one, though,' said Hugo, referring to himself, Lucy and Lily. The latter nodded glumly.

'Nah,' James rebuked. 'You'll have Teddy and Victoire's kids by then.'

'What's this about us having kids?' asked Teddy, sticking his head through the fireplace and then following it with the rest of his body. Victoire hurried out of it behind him, her silvery-blonde hair waving like a sheet of platinum as she tried to brush off any traces of soot.

'We're not even married yet—don't get too excited about children,' said the young woman, darting forward and stealing the last bite of her little brother's French toast. Louis yelled out in protest, but he was ignored.

'It's only a week or two away,' said Rose. 'January 3rd isn't far off.'

Victoire shrugged, as though the date of her wedding meant next to nothing in the grand scheme of the world. 'Is Mum around?'

'You missed her by about twenty minutes,' Fred told her. 'She's at work. Just came round to make us breakfast and then set off.'

Victoire looked slightly put out—and so did Louis, because he hadn't seen his mother in three months, but no one had though to wake him when she came to the house—but instead asked if anyone else's parents were at the Burrow. Apart from Grandma Molly, James, Fred and Molly (the younger; which always created a very confusing atmosphere when the grandchildren spent Christmastime at the Burrow) were the only of-age wizards in the house.

'Mum told me she'd be dropping by later, though,' said James. 'She and Dad are coming to stay on Wednesday night.'

'Are you going to go see them, though?'

'At home? Probably. I mean, they've gone three months without their beloved children—and they probably want to see Albus, too; bit of a shame, but what can you do?—so yeah, 'might make a trip.'

Rose told the group that she and Hugo were going to visit Diagon Alley and then the Ministry to see their parents later that day, to which Fred said: 'You should've gone with Molly and Lucy; they left a little while ago to catch Uncle Perce. Rox,' he added, addressing his sister, 'you and I should go see mum and dad later, yeah?'

'Everyone's visiting _everyone_,' said Albus. 'As is usual with these Christmases.'

So that's what was accomplished in the rest of the day: every Weasley who had been away at Hogwarts made a trip to see their parents. Some stayed an hour, some stayed the entire day, some didn't even return to the Burrow for dinner. The important part was that they reunited.

* * *

'So,' said Dominique coyly, settling herself down beside Rose, who closed her copy of _Adventures into Ancient Arithmancy_, vaguely guessing at what was to come. 'What's this I hear about you and one _Will Bowen_? As I recall from my time at Hogwarts, isn't he a Ravenclaw—and the Keeper for the Quidditch team, at that?'

Rose raised her eyebrows. 'What did you hear?'

'Nothing short of the truth.'

'How would you know that?'

'Hugo.'

'Damn.'

'Then I got confirmation from James.'

'_Damn_.'

'And Neville.'

'_Damn_!'

Even Professor _Longbottom_ had heard? News certainly _did_ travel fast at Hogwarts. Rose supposed she should've learned this from the urgency with which James's conquests spread, if not the rumours about she and Scorpius. (Well, the _truths_.) She set her book down on the bedside table, for it was in she, Roxanne and Lily's shared room that Dominique had begun this interrogation.

'He's not—I mean, it isn't—'

'Hell of a lot better than a _Malfoy_,' said Dominique, cutting across Rose's ample stuttering. She motioned for Rose to move over on the single bed and, when she did, Dominique squeezed in beside her. 'How long have you known the bloke?'

'Er—a day past two months?'

'So you've been _counting_?' Dominique asked, throwing Rose a look that was both interrogative and taunting. 'Do you fancy this bloke?'

Rose thought about it. 'I suppose.'

'If it were _me_,' said the other, 'I'd make sure I fancied someone more than "I suppose" before snogging them.'

'Will is _nice_,' Rose said defensively. 'And really smart, and compassionate, and talented, and...'

'And he's a bloody dreamboat: both you and I know it.' Dominique said this brazenly. 'Do you think he fancies _you_?'

Rose shrugged. 'I hope he does. I mean—first, he helped me out when this foul _prick_ was coming at me, saying basically that I was a slag; then he checked up on me to make sure nothing had happened; then he asked me if I had a date to Slughorn's Christmas Party, and neither of us did, but we both wanted people to stop asking us, so he asked _me_ and I agreed and—'

'—and you snogged,' finished the elder. 'I heard.'

It was quiet for a moment.

Dominique asked suddenly, 'was he better than Malfoy?'

Taken aback, Rose stammered: '_What_?'

'Will Bowen,' said Dominique. 'Was he a better snog than Malfoy?'

Rose contemplated the idea. Scorpius was a wonderful kisser; their kisses had been full of heat, the unquenchable taste of rebelliousness. She had felt lit aflame with those kisses. But with Will, it had been easy: warm, but not overbearing; gentle, hesitant: lingering and chaste. She told Dominique this, and the older girl pretended to gag.

'You've come out of an old romance,' she said, as though it were the worst thing in the world. 'Even _Victoire_ wasn't this bad when she was unrequitedly drooling over Teddy.'

'It was never unrequited,' Rose protested.

'Yeah,' Dominique agreed, 'but Vic didn't know that.'

* * *

_**December 21**_

* * *

Tuesday was surprisingly sunny; as sunny as a day could get in the middle of English winter. James decided—though he did not particularly believe in such things—that this was a sign from the universe: his meeting today with Cordelia's family was meant to go well. Or, rather, this was what he told himself as he Apparated to the three-story-house-with-a-wide-gate-and-a-large-garden that he had seen three nights prior.

He arrived at 11:59 and 57 seconds, to a sight that made his chest feel both lighter than air and weighed down by an anvil simultaneously: Cordelia Gilbert leaning against the front gate of her house. It wasn't anything extraordinary, but the fact that it was Cordelia made it so. Perhaps the fact that they hadn't seen each other for three days (and even on the night of the 18th, it had been brief, for they had been apart on the train ride).

Whatever the cause: James threw his arms around his girlfriend on the bright—almost cantaloupe-shaded—ground outside of her gated home. The exact reason it _was_ gated remained a mystery to him: there were no other houses as far as James could see, plenty of space to practice Quidditch, and yet there was a gate around the Gilbert family's incredibly large garden.

Then again, his brother's middle name was taken from a bloke who wanted to shag their grandmother, so James didn't say anything.

'I warn you,' said Cordelia, after they had exchanged a hasty "hello" and an even hastier kiss, 'not only is my grandmother... unwell... but my mother _loves_ to embarrass me; my father _thinks_ he's funny, though he's really not and he's just rather uncomfortable; and Mitch... well, you know Mitch.'

James nodded, taking in this information with something of a business-like manner.

'Think they'll like me?' he asked. Not giving Cordelia time to reply, he rushed: 'No—what am I saying?—of course they will: I'm _James Potter_.'

His girlfriend laughed. 'Exactly. Oh and,' she added as they crossed through the gate and over the front lawn, '_James Potter_, they're all watching us from upstairs.'

James was barely able to glance upstairs before they reached the threshold. Cordelia opened the door into a large, wooden-floored foyer; they stepped inside just as the Gilbert family came down the staircase. The two unfamiliar faces—those of Cordelia's parents—smiled at James. He returned the gesture.

'Mum, Dad,' said Cordelia, addressing them both in turn, 'this is James.'

'Nice to meet you, James; I'm Natalie.'

Apart from being his girlfriend's mother, Natalie Gilbert was a brunette—her hair a few shades darker than her daughter's—with large, dark eyes. She was tall and willowy, with strong stature and a good firm handshake. James learned this when she moved forward to greet him.

'Nice to meet you, too—I look forward to hearing all the embarrassing stories you've got to tell about Cordelia here.'

Natalie raised her eyebrows at her daughter, then looked approvingly at James. 'Well, that's brilliant, because I've got quite a few to tell.'

The Head Boy then met Cordelia's father, who had the exact hair colour of his children, and was also very tall. He and James stood at the same height, which was no small feat to accomplish on behalf of either party.

After a few minutes of easy conversation with the Gilberts, Cordelia (who was quite embarrassed at this point, because James now knew all about her two-year-old self re-enacting the birthing process, and that time when she had tried to turn her Holyhead Harpies poster bright pink at the age of seven and instead lit Mitchell's empty bassinet aflame) led him away upstairs to meet her grandmother.

Suddenly, James _was _nervous. He hadn't been particularly when making small-talk and introductions with Cordelia's parents, but now he was. He knew how many times his girlfriend had cried over the fact that her grandmother was probably going to die; how many times had he comforted her? This was probably the most important introduction he would ever experience, and in that moment, James was closer to throwing up than thinking his mind was making a massive exaggeration.

The old woman, though white-haired and bearing one tell-tale sign of suffering from Dragonpox: patchy purple skin, looked surprisingly nimble. She sat up like a bolt when Cordelia walked into the room, coaxing James by the hand behind her.

The first thing the Head Boy heard out of her mouth was not directed at him, though she had given him a proper investigative look, but Cordelia.

'Good job.'

Both teenagers laughed. (It was at this point in time that James began to think he really _was_ in love with Cordelia Gilbert.)

'Grandma, this is James—James, this is—'

'—_Clancy_,' the old woman finished quickly, raising an eyebrow at both of them. 'And I'd just like to say that it's a pleasure to meet you, James—Cordelia's said so much...'

'All good things, I'm hoping.'

'Trust me—_great_ things. You know, she _actually_—'

'—Mum told all the embarrassing stories about me downstairs,' said Cordelia abruptly, cutting into the budding conversation before it got out of hand.

'But what about that o—'

'—No, Grandma; please don't,' the younger said, with a tone James thought made it obvious that she didn't want her boyfriend knowing every possible imperfection there was to Cordelia Gilbert. (To be a terrible sap: James still couldn't find any.)

'Fine,' said Clancy, knowing—as James did—that her granddaughter did not wish to be embarrassed further. 'How about a walk around the garden? I'll bet James hasn't seen it yet.'

James nodded. 'Sounds like a plan.'

* * *

James decided he liked Cordelia's grandmother the most of anyone he had met that day. In the fifteen minutes they had spent exploring the garden, Clancy had entertained them with stories she knew about the days when _she_ was at Hogwarts: how she had gone at a similar time to James's grandparents and their friends—'oh, I _fancied_ Remus Lupin! He was wonderful.'—and what the first set of Marauders had gotten up to. James found the whole thing incredibly interesting. He had spent most of his childhood trying to be as much like his namesakes as he could.

But it was when Cordelia went inside to check on how things were doing there that the subject of the conversation really took off.

As soon as her granddaughter was out of sight, Clancy turned around and said, 'I don't mean to _pry_, James...'

'No, no,' he replied, 'go ahead—pry away.'

Clancy smiled. 'As I keep mentioning: I went to school with your grandfather. I didn't know him very well, of course, because he was _him_ and I was—well—I was in Ravenclaw, so we didn't really run in the same circles, but... you _do_ remind me of him quite a lot.'

'I'll take that as a compliment.'

'Oh, _definitely_!' Clancy sighed. 'From what Cordelia's told me, you're the Head Boy, and Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain.'

'That is correct.'

'Well, I think it's almost uncanny—the similarities.'

James took a moment to think about it. Then he decided that he had practically no time: Cordelia would undoubtedly be back soon and then he would never be able to tell Clancy what he would have liked to. Besides: the woman was _dying_.

'From what I've heard,' he began, 'my grandparents started going out when they were in their seventh year...'

Clancy nodded: yes, that was—in fact—the case.

'...and they were in _love_—well, James the First was, anyway...'

Clancy nodded once more, but if she knew where the conversation was going, she didn't make it obvious.

'...I—er—I don't think the similarities end at Head Boy and Gryffindor Captain,' James admitted.

Clancy was quiet for a moment. 'Are you trying to tell me you think you're in love with my granddaughter?'

James nodded somewhat hesitantly. He wasn't sure how the woman would take it. Much to his surprise, she said, 'well, that's smart of you.'

They both chuckled.

'Just—James—if you will... just promise me one thing.'

The Head Boy nodded that he would comply.

'Say you'll take care of Cordelia. I mean, I haven't got much time left, have I? Someone's going to have to do it after I'm gone. Please look after her, James.'

'I will,' said the other. And he meant it. 'Always—I promise.'

There was the sound of a closing door: Cordelia was returning to the garden. Clancy shot James a slightly teasing look, but voiced nothing. The tall girl loped over to where her boyfriend and grandmother were sitting.

'Didn't attack him, did you?' Cordelia checked.

'No, no—I'm safe,' said James. 'Though I can't say the same for our relationship.'

At this, all three laughed.

'I was worried about that.'

(It was at this point in time, sitting in the garden that had somehow remained free from snow, having just met her family, that James _knew_ he was in love with Cordelia Gilbert.)

Love is a strange and powerful thing; sometimes it clouds the mind, and sometimes it gets distorted—forgotten—but somehow, it never truly vanishes. If it were, perhaps it wasn't proper love in the first place.

* * *

_**December 22 & 23**_

* * *

'_Barbara_!'

Fred's head shot up from where it had been lazily rested; James, who was on the bed opposite him in their small ex-laundry room hostel, also looked up from what he was doing as he heard Lily call the Head Girl's name.

'Hey!' came Barbara's slightly muffled voice from one of the below floors. 'Is Fred 'round?'

'He's just up there—fourth floor,' came Lily's response, obviously directing the older girl to the room in which the boys were currently residing.

Fred jumped up from his bed as James, much less eager to impress Barbara, simply turned over and continued to read. (Don't be too surprised—it was _Quidditch Through the Ages_, which he had read at least thirty-two times and still found useful.) The door opened with a hesitant creaking sound, and the edge of Barbara's face emerged: she looked around the room before entering.

Seeing his girlfriend in the doorway, Fred's face lit up; he threw his arms around her and she returned the gesture just as enthusiastically. They shared a quick kiss before James interrupted it with, 'well, Barbs, how are you?'

Fred shot him a look.

'Er—I'm all right; _really_ glad I didn't continue Arithmancy, though—did you hear about their frightful pre-N.E.W.T. homework?' Barbara asked in a transparent attempt to change the subject.

'And I thought _Binns_ was bad,' muttered Fred, deciding to humour her.

James stood, taking _Quidditch Through the Ages_ in his hand as he did so, and turned towards the door. With a wink, he said, 'I'll leave you two alone,' and embarked off to—presumably—torment Albus.

'Happy _Birthday_!' Barbara cried. '_Merlin_—you're eighteen!'

'So are you,' Fred pointed out.

'I know, but it's _much_ more fun making a big deal over _you_,' said Barbara. Her eyes flickered over to the bed, where Fred had stacked the mountain of birthday presents he had received from family members.

From James, there was an old Muggle record of George Harrison's, which his cousin had informed him had been picked up on the way back from Cordelia's house the day before after the idea struck him on the Knight Bus. From Uncle Harry, Aunt Ginny, Albus and Lily, a set of Quidditch players' cards and at least seventy-three Chocolate Frogs; from Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, Rose and Hugo, a book which held only the purpose of being viciously destroyed (it sprouted one piece of magical currency for the deviance of the ruining: galleon, sickle, or knut); from Uncle Percy, Aunt Audrey, Molly and Lucy a list of every single Beater who played for the league, along with flying little versions of Fred's favourites; from Uncle Charlie, the scale of a Hungarian Horntail as well as a large bottle of firewhiskey that had appeared in Fred's bedroom with a note bearing three words: _Don't tell Grandma_; from Uncle Bill, Aunt Fleur, Victoire, Dominique and Louis, a working model of a Quidditch pitch with players that Fred could instruct (almost like a chessboard).

From his parents—and Roxanne—Fred received three tickets to the final of the year's Quidditch World Cup, up in the top box. The family usually all went, but these particular tickets were for a solitary room, and this was the appeal.

'That's a seriously wonderful haul,' said Barbara, dropping down onto Fred's bed and picking up a chocolate frog. She caught the animal as it tried to spring away, and her attention fell on the three tickets. 'Top box?' she cried.

'_Solitary _top box,' Fred corrected.

'Who're you going to take?'

Fred shrugged. 'Probably you and James.'

Barbara raised her eyebrows. 'You're just saying that,' she told him. 'Why would you take _me_ to a World Cup Final? In a _solitary top box_?' The last part was for a level of dramatic effect, and Fred laughed.

'Well, for one: you and James are my best mates and all three of us play Quidditch; and you're my _girlfriend_, so it's kind of in the job description.'

Barbara positively _beamed_.

'What'd _you_ get me, then?' asked Fred, though he was joking.

'Well,' said Barbara, with a great deal of emphasis, 'I kind of came to kidnap you.'

Fred raised his eyebrows.

'Seriously,' said the Head Girl. 'If you don't mind... you're coming and spending the night in Muggle London with _me_!'

'And if I _do_ mind?'

'...you're coming and spending the night in Muggle London with _me_!'

Fred chuckled. 'I don't seem to have a choice.'

'Well I _would_ have liked you to be a bit more optimistic than that, eh?'

* * *

'It's _late_!' Barbara giggled.

It _was_ late. The streets of London were lit solely by the poles along the side of the road from which orangey-yellow illumination shone. Somehow, the puddles on the ground had collected navy blue light, and some violet as well; presumably from the reflection of a shop sign against the surface of the water. There were other people in the street, but they paid the young couple no attention.

Fred took a swig of the firewhiskey he had been given and silently thanked Uncle Charlie. 'It _is_ late,' he agreed. 'I should probably take you home.'

'Such a gentleman,' muttered Barbara. 'But... but I don't _want_ to go home. London's _marvellous_! I want to stay out here _forever_.'

Chuckling, her boyfriend replied, 'you might get a bit cold.'

'I love London,' she declared.

'I can tell by the way you're looking around wide-eyed.'

Barbara gripped his hand tighter and took the fire-whiskey from Fred's grasp. She took a drink, almost spitting it out. 'I tell myself I like it, and then I try it again, and it's _ghastly_.' She poked her tongue out as if the cold would remove the taste.

'You've had one swig and you're practically _sunshine_.'

'Sunshine?' Barbara laughed. '_Here comes the sun—_duh-nah-nah-nuh!'

'Proof,' Fred set in a settling tone. He then muttered: 'I never should've introduced you to the Beatles.'

'Rubbish,' Barbara protested. 'They're our _grandparents_' age, and still absolutely _brilliant_. You just wish you were John or Paul.'

'I am perfectly _fine_ being George, thank you very much.'

'What time is it?' she asked.

Fred checked his watch, for the Head Girl seemed to have forgotten she was wearing hers. 'It's almost twelve.'

Barbara raised her eyebrows. 'Really?' she asked. 'It can't be _that_ late. No wonder you want to take me home—probably scared some thug will show up and try to have his wicked way with me.'

Her boyfriend shook his head. 'That certainly _isn't _the case. Not that I don't _worry_ about you —but I don't think a _thug_—as you put it—would stand too well against the two of us.'

'_Magic_,' Barbara whispered, as though the whole thing was their little secret.

It was almost as though she were slipping in and out of insanity (or, rather, _intoxication_). It was an interesting show for Fred to watch: the Barbara wandering along the streets of Muggle London at almost-midnight was a breath of fresh air when compared to the straight-laced Head Girl; though she was no less beautiful on either account.

'Do you want to go to Diagon Alley?'

'Diagon Alley?' echoed Barbara. 'Sounds like fun to me! Diagon Alley, Diagon Alley, _Diagonally_!' she began to chant under her breath. Fred pulled her closer into his side, unable to refrain from grinning.

It wasn't a long walk to the Leaky Cauldron. They could have Apparated, but wasn't much of an experience. You couldn't see where you were going with Apparition; with walking, it may have taken longer, but since the scenery was nice, the length of time didn't mean much. Fred looked at his watch again.

'It's officially five past twelve.'

Barbara smiled. 'Really?'

Fred nodded. 'Uh-huh. Are you _sure_ your parents won't want you home?'

'I'm of _age_,' Barbara emphasized. 'And it's the _holidays_. And maybe they think I'll be sleeping over with Molly,' she added slowly.

Fred feigned a gasp. 'Barbara,' he said incredulously. 'Did you lie to your parents?'

She chortled. They had reached the Leaky Cauldron, and Fred pushed open the door. Thankfully, nobody paid them much attention, as they were just hurrying through. There was one woman who presumably worked for the _Prophet _or _Witch Weekly_, but after the two eighteen-year-olds made it clear they were _busy_, she did not persist.

Diagon Alley was populated by a few groups of people doing late Christmas shopping, or enjoying the Yuletide festivities—one quartet, perhaps in their early twenties, were singing "God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriff" at the top of their lungs—but no one tried to converse with neither Barbara nor Fred.

'What do you want to do?'

'Does your dad's shop have any food that _isn't_ going to make us ill or turn us into animals?'

Fred shrugged, considering it. 'There might be a few things in the flat upstairs.'

Barbara nodded. She seemed to like this idea. She made another attempt for the firewhiskey, but Fred moved it out of her reach.

'You don't even _like_ it!' he said loudly.

Barbara hushed him. 'I'm thirsty; it won't _matter_.'

'It will _so_ matter—Uncle Charlie sent this tome from _Romania_. It's not your usual firewhiskey.'

'Perhaps that's why it tastes so vile.'

'Shut up, you lightweight.'

Even though it was just a few feet away, Fred took Barbara (who hadn't been in the apartment before) by side-along Apparition. They arrived just inside the front door of the flat with a _pop_. Though it had always been somewhere he frequented and it wasn't a very big deal to him—being in the flat, that is—Fred watched Barbara's eyes widen as she looked around the small flat.

The front door opened up into a rectangular room that might have extended four or five metres on either side of it: one side, a lot of shelving filled with books and records and lots of other curious articles, and a circular table with four chairs around it. On the other side—the right side—was a small kitchen. Barbara followed down the thin corridor parallel to the door; on one side, there was a room marked with a purple _G_, and opposite, a door marked with a green _F_. She let out a little sigh, almost like sadness.

'I've never been in there,' said Fred. 'I'm not the right one.'

Barbara gave him a small smile, and took his hand as she continued down the corridor: a bathroom, a laundry room; right at the end of a the corridor there was a storage room, for things that had probably come from the Burrow but neither twin had ever unpacked.

'My dad hasn't been here since...'

Barbara nodded. 'Who took you up here?'

'Uncle Ron,' he said. 'He knew I should've come up at some point. 'Reckon he keeps some stuff up here, too, myself.'

They settled a moment, neither speaking. Barbara allowed Fred some time to rekindle his memories, and then leaned into his shoulder. 'Should I have a look in the kitchen?'

Fred nodded. He felt his girlfriend move away from him, slowly down the corridor back to the front room. There was the creak of an opening cupboard and a triumphant exclamation. Fred followed the sound.

Barbara had in her hands two pumpkin pasties. They looked reasonably fresh. She set them down on the kitchen bench and began to investigate the other cupboards, probably in search of some drink, for—if it wasn't apparent—she wasn't a fan of firewhiskey. There was still half a bottle of the stuff left, and Fred decided he would save it, because (knowing his family) there would be a time when he was grateful he did.

'Butterbeer!' said Barbara suddenly, pulling out two bottles of the drink. 'There's about five more bottles down there,' she told Fred, whose presence she had just noticed, 'but the pasties are all I could find. Your father hasn't done anything with these, has he?' she asked, gesturing to the pasties. He understood her concern: the Weasleys had certainly made quite a few products that just appeared like normal food. Fred imagined Barbara being turned into an otter, and chuckled slightly, before getting out a plate on which to settle their small, gathered morsels.

'This is nice,' said Barbara matter-of-factly.

'Yes,' Fred agreed, 'it is.'

* * *

The next morning Fred awoke in a somewhat unfamiliar location, with a light weight pressed against his chest. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that he had stayed the night in his father's flat, above the shop in Diagon Alley. The light weight on his chest proved to be Barbara. (Fred thought this was funny: the light weight; the _lightweight_.)

Slowly, he slid himself out from under her and substituted his absence with a pillow before going out to the kitchen. It was definitely daytime, even though snow was sitting on the windowsills and falling around the buildings of Diagon Alley. White light illuminated the room. Fred pulled a glass from the cupboard and pointed his wand, which had been resting surprisingly comfortably in his back pocket all night —somehow, wands didn't snap under pressure—at it. '_Aguamenti_,' Fred muttered.

He was looking out the window, sipping at his glass of water, when the sound of footsteps pulled him from his reverie. Barbara was leaning against the frame of the door that led down the hallway, wrapped up in a blanket.

'We stayed here all night,' she said, just noticing.

Fred nodded. 'Uh-huh.'

Her eyes widened. 'We didn't—?'

'_No_!' Fred said loudly. 'No —er—that didn't—'

'Okay,' Barbara sighed. 'That's a relief. I mean, it's not a _relief_,' she added quickly, as though afraid he would be offended, 'I just mean—you know—'

'Yeah: I get it. Absolutely.'

It was a moment before Barbara said, 'I should probably be getting home.'

'Me too—I don't really want Dad or Uncle Ron showing up while I'm here; they'll ask, and assume...'

Barbara nodded, pulling her hair up into a bun. It was a bit haphazard, due to the fact that she had been sleeping, but principled nonetheless. With a flick of her wand, the blanket returned to the bed, which was promptly made as though never slept in.

Fred set his empty glass against the bench and looked at his girlfriend as she trailed over to him. Barbara pressed her lips to his briefly—the feeling of surprise never died, Fred found; it was as though this entire thing was just a good dream —and then said again, 'I should probably go.'

'Okay,' said Fred. 'I hope you had fun.'

'I _did_. Love you,' Barbara reminded, kissing him once more. Then she turned on the spot and was gone.

Fred sighed; looking once around the room, he did the same.

* * *

_**December 24**_

* * *

_Oi, Al._

_If you want a mate who isn't your brother, Patricia and I'll be in Diagon Alley at three._

_Scorpius_

* * *

It was 2:56 (and 38 seconds) when Albus Potter arrived at the Leaky Cauldron.

'Last minute Christmas shopping?' came a voice from behind him.

Closer inspection revealed Andy behind the counter of the bar.

'You're not even of age,' said Albus, 'how did you get a job here?'

'Au contraire, young wizard—_I_ turned seventeen in November. And mum's mates with Mrs. Longbottom'—Neville's wife Hannah was the landlady of the Leaky Cauldron, having taken over from Tom, the old man who had once been in charge—'so she's got me to call when she needs staff.'

'Oh,' said Albus. 'Well, I'm off to meet Scorpius and Patricia. When do you get off?'

'Five,' Andy replied, handing a bottle of butterbeer to a young witch who eyed Albus interestedly. 'Call in if you lot are still around, yeah? I'll give you a discount.'

She frowned at the witch and Albus, who was not interested in being chatted up in a _bar_, hurried off with a quick wave. Scorpius and Patricia were outside the Apothecary; the brunette had a knit beanie over her hair that reminded Albus of the jumper he would no wonder receive from his grandmother the next day. Both grinned when they spotted him.

'You got my owl, then?' asked Scorpius.

Albus nodded.

'Could've replied,' said the Slytherin.

'I was busy.'

'Too busy to acknowledge _me_? Wow, Al; and I thought we had something special.'

'Did you see Andy?' Patricia asked, slapping down Scorpius's arms with her considerably smaller ones as he made dramatic, heartbroken gestures and just about socked an elderly witch who was coming out of the Apothecary.

'Just ran into her—told us to stop by,' said Albus, 'we'll get discounts.'

'Anyone try to pick you up?' Scorpius enquired.

They began down the road, past Flourish and Blotts and Madam Malkin's; they paused in front of Eeylop's Owl Emporium as Al said, 'nah, but there was this one bird who kept looking at me.'

'She pretty?'

Al shrugged. 'All right, I s'pose.'

'Not worth pursuing?'

Patricia rolled her eyes. 'I don't think Al should be picking someone up at a _pub_, Scor.'

Albus nodded, gesturing that Patricia was absolutely right, and that was all they said on the subject. Scorpius saw that it was a lost cause and didn't continue with it. Instead, he followed his nose into a small sweet shop that had opened up in some space that had been made out of _no_ space and bought a Fizzing Whizbee. While there, Patricia picked out some Honeyed Humbugs; Albus a liquorice wand.

'So why'd you lot come to London anyway?' asked the Gryffindor. 'Aren't you more out Bath way?'

Patricia shrugged. 'It's dead boring at home,' she said, 'and I hadn't got Scorpius anything for Christmas—'

'—nor I, her—' put in Scorpius.

'—so we decided we'd come out and each _pick_ something we wanted, and that'd be that.'

'And then we thought of you,' said Scorpius, 'and how you were probably trapped inside the house with no space to move because of your brother's massive ego, so... we obliged.'

'Good to know I'm cherished,' said Al.

'Oh, _always_ —wait: always, _all ways_, _Al_-ways!' Scorpius looked around at the two of them. 'Why don't you think this is as cool as I do?'

Patricia contemplated it. 'Because our brains have evolved past four.'

'Hey!' said Scorpius indignantly. 'What was that, Miss I-Can't-Do-Charms-To-Save-My-Life?'

Patricia began to sulk and so they decided it was time to visit Andy in the Leaky Cauldron. It hadn't been too long, but the witch who had eyed Albus up and down was gone, and the atmosphere—though the bar was less busy—was much more murky when the three of them arrived. Andy passed a couple of mugs filled with Ogden's best firewhiskey over the counter to a dark, unshaven wizard and then turned to pay them attention.

'What'll it be, you lot?'

'Three butterbeers.'

Andy raised her eyebrows. 'Original.'

'_We_ are all still sixteen,' said Patricia.

'Ah,' Andy noted, her tone making it plain that being sixteen and underage was a sad, sad fact; it sounded as though the three people in front of her were missing out on the best parts of life. 'Bottled or tap?'

Albus and Scorpius said 'tap' just as Patricia said, 'bottle.'

Andy looked at the brunette Slytherin. 'Even _more_ original.'

'Why aren't you staying at Hogwarts, anyway? I thought you always did.'

Answering Patricia's question (even though it was rather a transparent attempt at changing the subject), Andy said, 'Jenna complained; she's one of those people who think it's _nice_ to have the family all together at Christmas. And mum got mad.'

'So,' Albus began, taking a sip of the butterbeer the bartender gave him, 'did you two'—to Patricia and Scorpius—'get what you were supposed to?'

'Yeah,' they said simultaneously.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the butterbeers were finished, and the topic had switched to gifts people had bought for the people who would be receiving them. Albus gathered that Patricia and Scorpius had gotten him something_ together_ (a very couple-y thing to do, in his opinion—though it was not as though he minded) and that Andy's gift was something more like unlimited drinks at the Leaky Cauldron. He, who was both single and unemployed, had opted for an album from a wizard band named Planet Felicis (for Patricia), a dessert recipe book (for Andy —who else?), and a special kind of broom polish (for Scorpius; _no euphemism_, Albus had written on the note, _it makes the wood shinier and reflective, so light gets in peoples'_ _eyes when they try to look for you, it's really good distraction in a match_).

Andy was about to refill the drinks when a voice came from behind Albus.

'Peps!' James called from the door. 'Rocky; Sunshine; Puff.'

While the other three looked a bit confused, Albus asked, 'what are you doing here?'

'I _was_ buying Cordelia's Christmas present,' began James, showing them the bag in which the gift was, and then continuing: 'but mum told me you were here and that we needed to get back to the Burrow.'

'Whatever's in that bag is shiny,' said Patricia. 'Do you _really_ think Cordelia would like something_ shiny_?'

'How about _substantial_?' put in Scorpius.

James shushed them both. 'I'm not an idiot—'

'—could've fooled me—'

'—Shut_ up_, Malfoy; I am of age and could therefore kick your arse, but I won't... it didn't occur to you that I got her more than _one_ thing, did it? Now, come on, Al, we've got to go.'

'How?'

'Apparition. I'll side-along you.'

'I can _smell_ the masculinity.'

'Are you sure that's not Potter?'

'Shut up, Malfoy!'

'Fine,' said Albus. He waved at the other three half-heartedly then James grabbed his forearm and they went spinning into darkness.

* * *

_**December 25**_

* * *

Christmas was hectic; though joyful all the same. There was much exchanging of gifts, and everyone undoubtedly gained a pound or two from the amount of food set on the table. The snow falling outside completed the jolly atmosphere of Christmas crackers and miniature figures skating along the top of the cakes the eldest Mrs. Weasley had prepared. The old woman sat by the radio for the rest of the day, listening to Celestina Warbeck; the rest of the family told stories about how she had done this even when _they_ were teenagers, then Fleur did a funny impression that made Mrs. Weasley sniff in a displeased tone.

James received an owl from Cordelia at lunchtime, thanking him for the necklace and the book; he was—as expected from his family —teased for the rest of the day, which put him in quite a foul mood by dinner, when Teddy forced him out of the rut by transforming into a doppelganger version of the Head Boy and exclaiming things like: 'oh, look how _brooding_ I am!', 'watch me _brood_!', 'brood, brood, brood!'.

The festivities of the night didn't finish until past twelve, when everyone went to their bedrooms and fell promptly to sleep.

* * *

_**December 26**_

* * *

'Who's _that_ owl from, Dominique?'

She snatched up the letter and said quickly, in quite a transparent tone, 'just—a friend, Rox. No one—_really_.'

Roxanne raised an eyebrow. 'Would a _friend_ put a kiss at the end of a letter?'

'We're very good friends,' Dominique replied icily, holding the parchment closer to her chest and dashing up the stairs from the kitchen. Roxanne watched her cousin go, then shrugged.

* * *

_Dear Dominique,_

_ I'm sorry for not replying sooner—Sheeran (you know, the team captain?) has been going absolutely mad. He's insisting almost daily practices, and between that and getting stuff sorted for Christmas, I haven't really had much time to reply. But that's what this letter's for, isn't it?_

_ Anyway, things have been great with me. We won against Puddlemere United, but that was by the skin of our teeth, so..._

_ I'm not very good at writing letters, am I? I seem very self-centered, which I promise is not the case. I'm also very happy to hear that there are scouts up at Hogwarts watching James; I remember he was a brilliant player—he'd be a great replacement for Mikatziv next year. But I hope that's not the only reason you've been writing to me: to get your cousin on the team. That'd be ghastly and I'd probably have to call you a hell lot of awful names if that were the case (once again: I hope it isn't.)_

_ How did your holidays go? Did you spend Christmas with your family?_

_ I did—it didn't go very well, really, because my cousins all insist on coming over and all they really want to do is eat all our pudding, which sounds melodramatic, but—really? They didn't even try to hide the fact. And my great Aunt Augusta's very opinionated and also very good with her wand, so things were a bit of a battleground. My mother actually ended up in tears. So, yeah, not good._

_ Write back soon! I do quite like hearing from you, Dominique._

_From,_

_Toby McDonnell_

_P.S. Saying 'from' makes me feel like a little kid._

* * *

Dominique liked hearing from Toby. It was going better than things had been during their time at Hogwarts: he had asked her out, and him being practically half her height hadn't been a winning factor. But he had grown and she had matured, and now he played Seeker for the Arrows and she... well, she_ wanted_ to travel... She just hadn't got around to it yet.

'Don't hide that from me,' came Victoire's voice from the door.

Dominique stuffed the letter into her pocket and tried to look unassuming. 'Yes?'

'The letter—Roxanne said you'd got one from a friend. She_ also_ said you'd looked like a psychopath when she tried to find out who it was from.'

'I love that I can always trust Roxanne.'

'So, who was it _from_?'

'Not telling,' said Dominique childishly.

There was a moment of silence, then Victoire cried, '_Accio letter_!' and Dominique—who hadn't had time to register the action—felt the letter whiz from her pocket and into her sister's outstretched hand. Victoire looked it over with manicured, thin fingers. Her eyes widened. 'Toby? Toby _McDonnell_?' She eyed Dominique. 'You cheeky little—'

'—you told me to get in touch with him, didn't you?'

'But I was _kidding_!' cried Victoire. 'You actually did it? And now you're—what?—are you going out?'

'Shit no!' said Dominique quickly. 'We've just been writing to one another.'

'You should bring him to my wedding,' Victoire said, sounding like the calculating witch she was. She dodged a pillow thrown her way by her younger sister and told her, 'it was just a _thought_! Don't get bloody _hostile_!'

* * *

_**December 27**_

* * *

It was time to de-gnome the garden. Each of the ten Hogwarts-age Weasleys had sectioned off their area of the property to work on; Roxanne and Louis, who were the most talented in this area of gardening, took over the widest berth. It was a relatively easy: everybody involved had been doing this for years. The job was completed in less than an hour and done in a relatively painless manner, except for Hugo, who procured a bite from one of his gnomes that, were he any other relation—like Albus, for instance—he would have been painfully teased about for the rest of the holidays.

* * *

_**December 28**_

* * *

'We're going to have to squeeze to fit in the wedding guests,' said Bill that day at breakfast. 'And while, for most of us, this could very well cause the apocalypse, it must be done if Victoire's grandparents and Aunt Gabrielle are going to come; as well as a couple of her daughters and a friend or two of theirs. Normally, they would stay at _our_ house, but given that it's Christmas and... well... this is the largest of the houses—and the one where the reception will be held—we're just going to have to deal with it.'

'So what's going on, then?' asked Fred. 'Who's staying where?'

'Wouldn't it just be easier to go and stay at our parents' houses?' asked Rose, who had been sleeping at her parents' since Christmas morning.

'Well,' said Bill, 'that works for some—and that'd be a fantastic idea, if some of you could do that—but since it's the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night: those of you who're in the wedding party are going to have to stay here—that means James, Dominique, Louis; you three will need to be available constantly.'

The three in question nodded.

'Should we go and get our things, then?' asked the other Weasley youths.

Bill shrugged. 'You could wait until your parents get here at the end of the workday—which, reminds me: I should be off!' He set his plate down, bade them farewell and Disapparated.

James slapped Louis on the shoulder. 'Looks like you and I are rooming, mate.'

Louis looked worried, but Albus reassured him: 'he won't do anything to you if you're in such a close proximity; plus, Teddy'll _kill_ him if anything goes wrong while the Delacours are here, so you're safe.'

'See?' said James. 'If Al says it, it's got to be true.'

The rest of the Weasley kids moved out to stay at their parents' houses after dinner that evening, and James and Louis moved into their room together on the fourth floor. Dominique was going in to stay with Victoire; there were four other rooms on offer, to accommodate the eldest two Delacours, their daughter Gabrielle and her husband, and then Gabrielle's two daughters and a few of their friends who had met Victoire on one occasion or another, though were all about fifteen. Teddy was staying with his grandmother, Andromeda, in the house she had been living in since she first married his grandfather (and namesake).

* * *

_**December 29**_

* * *

There was much hullaballoo when the troupe of Delacours (and whatever the little tag-alongs were named) arrived at the Burrow. Fleur greeted them extravagantly, speaking rapid French and showing them to their rooms before anyone else could really get a word in. James, who had been asleep until about noon that day, was just coming out of the shower, and it sprouted quite an awkward place to meet when he emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his lower half and a gaggle of undoubtedly-part-veela French girls in the middle of the staircase.

He practically dashed to his shared room with Louis and the two of them weren't sure if they wanted to laugh or go red in the face. It turned out these chatty French friends continued to trail behind the two boys in fits of giggles for the rest of the time, until Louis finally turned around and told them kindly—and in French, nevertheless—to bugger off.

(They didn't.)

* * *

'You are very tall,' said one of them to a very uncomfortable James. He had used to be very interested in the idea of exotic foreign girls, but now that they were staring him in the face, he would have preferred them to remain foreign. He was happy with his current girlfriend. 'We do not 'ave such _strong_ boys in France!'

Again, the girls giggled.

'Well—er—yeah. That's what a lifetime of Quidditch will—er—do.'

'Oh!' said another of the girls. 'I 'ave never played Queeddeetch! Per'aps you and Louis could teach us? It would be fun, I theenk.'

'Er—well—with the rehearsal dinner,' said Louis, 'we mightn't have much time, you know? Lots to do: don't want to upset Victoire and Teddy.'

Gabrielle's elder daughter, Cecile, laughed. 'I am sure a game of Queedeetch would not upset the wedding party, cousin Louis. With so many in your family, I theenk there would be enough brooms for my friends to play?'

Both boys shook their hands. 'Our family cares _a lot_ about their brooms. They would probably resort to violence if they were harmed.'

'Eef they were 'armed,' said one girl, 'couldn't we fix them weeth our wands?'

'We're not playing Quidditch,' James told them firmly.

'And,' Louis added, 'I've got a mountain of Transfiguration homework that I need to do, and that James needs to help me with, so we're going to have to leave you girls alone for a while.'

They practically _ran_ back to their room.

* * *

_**December 30**_

* * *

The rehearsal dinner was large and incredibly crowded. For every Weasley relative, there were another two guests; it was a manageable number, but nothing preferred. Cordelia was there, thankfully; she laughed when James divulged the reason he had not left her side that evening, and why Louis was tagging along so closely.

'Honestly,' she said, 'I would have brought Tabitha Perkins or somebody along if I'd known; she's quite pretty, and she would've pretended to be your girlfriend, Louis.'

Louis, though he did not know Tabitha Perkins particularly well past the fact that she hardly ever spoke and had the habit of trailing behind her housemates, would have taken the offer immediately, for in that moment he was asked to dance by a very persuasive, forceful friend of Cecile's. James and Cordelia followed him to the dance-floor at a distance. Rose and Will were there, as were Fred and Barbara; Roxanne and Wood were having a conversation on Quidditch in the corner. He, too, had been asked to dance a couple of times, but the power of Roxanne's vicious glare was unquestionable.

Alice Longbottom showed up with her parents, and continued the discussion of careers with young-Molly, who was at that moment, Archie-less. Lucy, Lily and Hugo mulled things over on a corner of the dance-floor, and they laughed at Albus when he, too, was snatched up by a French girl in a similar manner to Louis. Both boys were looking at each other worriedly, while James and his girlfriend watched on.

'The wedding's going to be wonderful,' said Hermione.

The bride's parents nodded their agreement.

'Better than _your_ wedding, for sure,' muttered George to his eldest brother, who shot him a glare. 'Only because Death Eaters attacked and things. You know. It wasn't anything bad, like the bride looking fat or anything!'

'Fleur looked gorgeous,' Ginny repaired.

'Sorry about the Death Eater thing,' Harry said. 'Kind of my fault Voldemort wanted me dead and stuff.'

The adults then decided to change the topic at that point, and somehow ended up talking about bananas and oral hygiene. It was a somewhat uncomfortable evening for a few people, to say the least.

* * *

_**December 31**_

* * *

The year was, at last, coming to a close. New Year's Eve brought with it the clinking of butterbeer mugs, the avoidance of Cecile and her friends, and the arrival of the second-oldest Weasley brother: Charlie. He had missed the rehearsal dinner, but there wasn't much to be done about that; part of his lateness, it was speculated, was that he didn't want his mother attacking him about cutting his shaggy (though no longer pony-tailed) red hair, which ended up happening anyway, causing a massive argument that made it very easy for Louis and James to sneak out of the house without being noticed. They Apparated —Louis by side-along—to London.

They caught up with Albus, who had been spending time in the Leaky Cauldron with that Hufflepuff friend of his, Andy, and decided to—by blunt statement—have a brilliant time doing pretty much whatever they liked.

'I was actually going to Scorpius's,' said Albus. 'He's having a bit of a party or something for the new year—you're invited, too, Louis.'

James looked affronted. 'How is it that you two get invited to a New Year's Eve party and not _me_?'

'It's _Scorpius_,' Albus reminded. 'Not as though you two have a fantastic relationship.'

'How are you going to get there? _I'm_ not taking you.'

'We're _floo_-ing from the Leaky Cauldron.'

James's mouth fell open. 'Then what am _I _supposed to do for New Year?'

'You're in London,' said Louis obviously, 'get sloshed.'

'_Alone_?'

'Not having company isn't going to _kill_ you, James,' Albus complained. 'Can we hurry this up? We're meant to be at Scorpius's place by six. You could go and see Cordelia, couldn't you?'

James frowned. 'She's spending the evening with her grandma and stuff; you know, _Clancy_?'

Louis and Albus looked at each other. 'You're well-acquainted with her family, and they like you: go there.'

James rolled his eyes. 'I don't want to impose,' he said reluctantly, but then followed his brother's advice as he and their blond cousin walked off.

* * *

It wasn't a party at the large house in the clearing. There were only five sixteen-year-olds in the vicinity, though their identities were questionable. It was certainly the first time a Potter or a Weasley had entered the home of any Malfoy under positive circumstances. (The same could be said for Andy, though she was a Hufflepuff and not a blood traitor.)

The five of them—Scorpius, Patricia, Andy, Albus and Louis—gathered in the foyer, which was bright marble and carved stone. There were torches on either side of the long hallway that stretched out into several other rooms over the large estate. Neither of Scorpius's parents seemed to be home.

'They're out at some Ministry benefit,' said Scorpius, pretending to be snobbish. 'Want to go to the cabin, then?'

'The cabin?' asked Louis.

It was not Scorpius, but Patricia who answered. 'There's a cabin outside, towards the back of the property. Not as massive or intimidating—plus it's warm and there's a hell of a music collection in there.'

So this was where they went; Andy levitated the barrels of butterbeer she had lifted from the Leaky Cauldron and they followed as though chasing the young wizards. It would probably have proved quite a strange sight for anyone surrounding, but the Malfoys lived under conditions close to solitude, and so there was no such threat.

The cabin was across a long patch of grass, little more than a cube sticking out against the forest's dark green background. Inside, there were about four couches set in different places around the reasonably spacious living area. There was one door beside the now-roaring fire that led to the toilet, and another to a spare bedroom—'for guests,' said Scorpius, 'if they come to stay.' This was followed by an innuendo from Andy, which earned her some looks and a high-five from Louis.

The barrels set themselves up for use and the five teenagers settled down across the various couches. Andy laid along one by herself, Albus and Louis sat side by side, and Scorpius tried to stretch his legs across his girlfriend but she shoved them off her and went to sit on the last free couch.

'Cordelia would have come,' said Patricia, 'but she's spending New Year with her family—you know, because of her grandma.'

Albus nodded. 'James is going over there, I think.'

'It was that or coming here to get sloshed,' said Louis. 'He wasn't really keen on being by himself in London.'

Albus stood as Scorpius made a remark and went over to where Scorpius's many albums were kept. He rummaged through some of them. 'Don't have any Muggle music, do you?'

The Slytherin raised his eyebrows. 'I'm pureblood. Raised by a family who were once-upon-a-time Death Eaters and supremacists. Do you _honestly_ think I'd have Muggle music?'

Louis nodded and Scorpius's face split into a wide grin.

'It's behind the mead in the liquor cabinet.'

Albus followed his instructions and searched through the collection—which was quite vast, really—for anything vaguely familiar to him. Scorpius didn't seem to have the Beatles.

'Didn't find anything appealing?'

The Gryffindor shrugged, extracting a bottle of butterbeer from where it had been slotted, waiting for him, in Andy's closer hand. He settled back down into his place on the couch beside Louis. Patricia went over to the music collection where Albus had had no luck. She plucked out an album from a band named Coriander Dippet. The first song to play was upbeat and loud to the others' unassuming ears, but after a while they began to accustom and the song sounded quite interesting.

'Coriander Dippet is tragically unknown,' said Patricia, swigging her butterbeer as the lead singer of the band began to belt something that involved praising the fact that they were young and reckless.

Louis closed his eyes and began tapping his feet to the rhythm of the music.

This night of relaxing and being amongst teenagers was greatly necessary for all the five involved, and they left very early the next morning, slightly punch-drunk and unnaturally smiley.

* * *

_**January 1**_

* * *

The new year didn't begin in a rushed manner: it was without qualms or stress. Even Victoire and Teddy, whose wedding was two days later, remained calm and collected. They went out to the beach by Shell Cottage together and did not return until late that night. Fred woke up at almost eleven o'clock that day, deciding to visit Barbara, and managed to avoid the gaggle of French girls Aunt Gabrielle had brought with her when he called in to see James. The Head Boy remained in his room until almost three in the afternoon. Louis suspected this was because of a hangover, but James revealed he was hiding from the visitors—though Clancy _had_ tried to get him to take a bottle or two of her special firewhiskey home with him: 'can't take it with me once I'm dead, can I?'.

'Good move,' said Louis. 'Three of them practically tried to _buss_ me on my way up here.'

Lily and Roxanne were playing Quidditch against Hugo and Albus on the lawn, where Gabrielle's girls had taken up residence: nobody was cheering for the girls, though Lucy and Molly joked that Cecile was paying attention to Albus because 'eet's no _real_ relation—'e's not my cousin by _marriage_!' They cackled this into their gloves as the French girls watched on with glares.

'I don't suppose _Lily_ has a boyfriend,' one of them huffed, ignoring Lucy and Molly who were blatantly eavesdropping, 'she eez too _stubborn—_and zat 'air of 'ers: so _red_!'

'But zat doesn't matter to Eenglish boys!' said Cecile. 'Eet eez 'er _last name_ zey are attracted to.'

The gossiping girls found themselves pelted with rogue snowballs after this, and though they blamed James, who had his windows open, it was Molly; she, too, was of age and sneakier than anyone gave her credit for being. Lucy had to stage a coughing fit so that her screeches of mirth would not be overheard.

* * *

_**January 2**_

* * *

No matter how calm the previous day had been, the reality that Teddy and Victoire were getting _married_ on the 3rd had sunk in almost overnight. Aunt Fleur rushed around as though everything was a catastrophe and Uncle Bill actually had to be removed from the Burrow (Uncle Charlie took him to the Hog's Head, which seemed a safe distance away). Teddy was Apparating over so often that he was Splinched almost bald—which made Fleur screech like a banshee and run around the Burrow cursing the world in a mangled combination of English and French—but, being a Metamorphmagus, Teddy grew it back in about ten seconds and even made it alternate colours.

Victoire barely ate (though she downed about three pints of firewhiskey before Dominique's eyes) and insisted upon trying on her dress every ten minutes like she had gained a mountain of weight. By the end of it, even _she_ knew she was being ridiculous and refused to let anyone in if they weren't a bridesmaid—Dominique, Cassie MacDougal and Alexandra Brocklehurst (Victoire's classmates at Hogwarts)—or one of her Aunts. She refused to let either of her parents in, nor any cousins. It was almost insane, and at about eleven o'clock that evening, Fleur burst into tears and insisted that the wedding was ruined for some reason or another. Gabrielle and her group of girls took over make-up and beautification duties at this point and both James—the Best Man—and Louis—one of the groomsmen —were happy to get a reprieve from being followed around all day.

In short: it was tense, and people cried.

* * *

_**January 3**_

* * *

_You are invited_

_to the wedding of_

_Teddy R. Lupin and Victoire F. Weasley_

_on January 3__rd__, 2023_

_at the Burrow_

_Ottery, St. Catchpole, England_

* * *

Barbara hurried over and embraced Fred, who had been put on greeting duty at the gate of the Burrow. Her hair smelled like lavender and raspberry, and it was set in loose curls that danced down the planes of her back. She was wearing understated eye make-up and something that made her lips look very shiny—and very _inviting_, thought Fred—but other than that, she hadn't put on much make-up.

Her dress was pale salmon in colour and it flowed in a wavy manor from a slightly darker sash wrapped around her waist down to around her knees. The bodice was decorated with pinprick sparkles that became more pronounced as the material came up to two thin straps across her shoulders. She almost came up to Fred's height in her white heels.

'Do you want me to wait?' asked Barbara, pulling out of the hug to observe the elderly couple approaching.

'We're Ida and Milton Crockford,' said the old woman.

Fred looked over the list and then smiled at the two of them. 'Do you see the seats over there?' When they nodded, he continued: 'You're in the left section—that's to the left of the aisle—to the furthermost right of the fourth row.'

They nodded, looking somewhat doddery. Barbara stepped forward, releasing her hand from where it had been clutched in Fred's. 'I can show you to your seat if you like,' she offered.

Ida and Milton smiled gratefully and allowed the eighteen-year-old to lead them off into the area of seats where they were placed. With a sigh, Fred turned away from where his gaze had been fixed on her to find himself confronted by Neville and Hannah Longbottom, as well as their daughter Alice who was straying a bit behind in a yellow dress. He grinned at told them where they were placed—right of the aisle, second row—as Barbara returned.

'Cordelia hasn't shown up yet, has she?'

James seemed to have escaped the wedding party momentarily. Both Barbara and Fred shook their heads.

'I'd better get back,' said the Best Man, 'Aunt Fleur will murder me—but you'll tell me when she gets here, won't you?'

'Of course,' Barbara told him, pushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. James dashed off. 'She's next to me, isn't she, Fred?'

He nodded and told a trio of Teddy's Hogwarts friends where they had been placed.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Cordelia _did_ show up; she seemed a little flustered, but over-all excited and—as always—perfect-looking. Her dress was as long as Barbara's, though it was an icy silver-blue shade, with elbow-length sleeves and a tight bodice that immediately switched—at the thinnest point of her waist—to a flowing, layered skirt. It almost shimmered like rays of moonlight when she moved.

Though Barbara was in heels and Cordelia silver flats, the younger of the two still towered over her friend.

'Sorry if I'm late,' she said before even a "hello". The thin, understated necklace she wore held a simple glittering lapis lazuli; it jumped around as she moved her gaze between the two Gryffindors in front of her, then over to the people sitting awaiting the beginning of the wedding. 'I had to go the whole nine yards with my grandmother: say "goodbye" and "I love you" and everything. I'm not _terribly_ inconvenient, am I?'

Fred shook his head. 'You're not late at all—the wedding doesn't start for twenty minutes. I'm just the welcoming brigade.' He checked his watch again. 'Perhaps you two should go and sit down; I don't want Aunt Fleur slaughtering anyone if she doesn't have to.'

Barbara laughed and leaned up to peck her boyfriend on the cheek. She and Cordelia then hurried off to find their seats.

'You know,' said the sixteen-year-old as they sat down, 'I'm finding it hard to keep up with all the nice dresses we're having to wear these days.'

Barbara chuckled. 'I can't help but agree. I'm almost _grateful_ to my mum for forcing me into so many dress shops last summer.'

'Well, you look wonderful,' Cordelia told her. 'Not a soul compares—except perhaps Victoire and the bridesmaids, but of course it's their _job _to out-do everybody else.'

The Head Girl blushed. 'I don't know,' she said slowly. 'Those French cousins and the others over there are almost too good to be true.'

Cordelia leaned over to investigate the girls, who were all in pale gold, lilac and rose-coloured dresses. One or two of them returned the looks and began whispering enthusiastically.

'They're probably part Veela,' Cordelia decided. 'Unfairly perfect.'

James poked his head out from behind a series of lavish flower arrangements and, at last, his eyes found his girlfriend. Looking back quickly to make sure there wasn't anyone guarding him, he darted over to where Cordelia and Barbara were sitting.

'You're wearing the necklace I gave you,' he noticed, crouching down so that he was level with the two seated witches.

His girlfriend smiled. 'I _do_ really like it, and it _does_ match the dress, so...'

There was a frustrated shout from where James had emerged and he marked his time as up. Quickly placing a kiss on Cordelia's cheek, he told the girls: 'You both look wonderful,' and sprinted off back to where somebody was undoubtedly waiting to punish him.

'I don't think it's him you should be worried for,' Barbara muttered when the Ravenclaw voiced her concern. She looked over to the French girls, who now looked practically murderous. They had obviously had their eyes on James.

Cordelia made a face, then grinned at Fred and Roxanne—who had been monitoring the fireplace for guests who were using the Floo network to get to the wedding celebration—as they dashed past to take their seats.

The procession began.

* * *

Victoire Weasley was, without a doubt, the most beautiful bride in history. Her silvery-blonde hair, which she had inherited—like many characteristics—from her mother, was pulled up into a knot at the crown of her head. There were wisps here and there that had been let loose, either by meticulousness at perfection or simply by the divine beauty of the bride alone, and so they framed her thin, lightly freckled face in the most wondrous way possible.

She was magnificent.

Her eyes, blue and translucent as the purest of water, glinted from behind the covered veil. Even through the material, her cheekbones were accented, as was the flourish of freckles across them, though these did not detract from her appearance. The bride's lips were luscious and glossy, but it looked at the same time like nothing had been done to them.

Victoire's thin arms grasped at the bouquet, filled with tulips in multiple shades of white and silver, flecked with gold. The sleeves of her dress clung tight to her skin, dancing like runes right down to her wrist where they extended to meet her longest fingers at their first knuckle. The cut of the dress was diamond in shape against the bride's delicate chest; the same fabric clung to her skin until the line of her hips, at which it billowed out in several layers of translucent, shimmering frills.

She was breathtaking.

Bill led his daughter down the aisle and moved to stand beside James as they reached the altar. Dominique, who had been following behind the two in a dress of gold-tinted alabaster, removed her sister's veil, then took her place with Cassie and Alexandra.

Teddy, whose hair was gold for the occasion, had tears in his eyes.

A short, elderly wizard in silver robes stepped forward to begin the vows, as everybody else held their breath.

'Welcome, everyone: bride, groom, family, cherished guests, to the wedding of Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley. We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of these two souls: this wizard and this witch, in matrimony.'

Teddy and Victoire could see no one but each other, their gaze held as though the two of them were the only inhabitants of Earth.

'Before we begin, if there is anyone who can foresee any reason why these two people should not be married, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.'

Everybody waited, holding their breaths; nobody spoke.

'With that out of the way, let us commence. Do you, Teddy Remus Lupin, take this witch, Victoire Fleur Weasley to be your wife: in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live?'

Teddy removed his eyes from Victoire momentarily to say, 'I decided that a long time ago.' When the wizard looked somewhat questioning: '_I do_.'

'And do you, Victoire Fleur Weasley, take Teddy—'

'—Yes, yes, I _do_,' said Victoire quickly, cutting across the wizard.

He chuckled. 'Then I pronounce you: Teddy Remus Lupin and Victoire Fleur _Lupin_. You may now kiss the bride!'

And then Teddy Lupin kissed Victoire Lupin, and everybody cheered, and James wouldn't admit it at a later date but he _definitely_ had tears in his eyes, and Dominique hugged Cassie and Alexandra, and Fred and Barbara looked at each other meaningfully, and Lily was incredibly proud because she had known all along from the age of nine that Teddy and Victoire were meant for each other, and then the formal celebrations were over and the party began and _nothing _could ruin this day for anyone—_nothing_.

And then something did.

* * *

There was a massive, decorated tent around a hedge from the garden where the wedding had taken place; it was here that the festivities and frivolities of the occasion commenced. There was butterbeer and other delicious drinks on tap, mountains of strategically prepared food, and lots and lots of music.

Teddy and Victoire had been the first to dance; then the elder generation came onto the dance floor, and Fred and Barbara joined them, and Alice Longbottom agreed to dance with Albus so that some annoying French girl wouldn't. Everybody ended up out of their seats and enjoying themselves.

Lily conversed with her eldest brother while Cordelia danced with Hugo. James poured himself a mead and Lily a butterbeer.

'You're not moping, are you? Because there aren't any blokes for you to dance with?'

'You'd break their necks,' Lily told him.

James looked affronted. 'I'd do nothing of the sort! I could _hex_ him, perhaps, but I wouldn't physically injure him. And let myself get caught,' he muttered under his breath.

Lily elbowed him.

The song ended and Cordelia left Hugo with someone's little sister.

'You're enjoying yourself, then?' asked James.

She grinned. 'Best day I've had in weeks—Teddy and Victoire are _so_ lovely; I really feel like I should say something, but they've probably heard everything by now.' Cordelia sighed. 'I'd give a hippogriff's left wing to look _half_ that gorgeous on my wedding day.'

James tried not to dwell on the thought. It wasn't as though _they_ would ever get married. They had barely been going out four months—and it wasn't like she would _ever _agree...

A tawny owl swooped through the tent. It passed the ancient Ida Crockford, who was in conversation with Molly-the-Elder, and landed delicately on top of the butterbeer barrel beside James, Lily and Cordelia. It had a sad look in its eyes... if an owl could look sad.

It dropped the envelope it was carrying into James's open hand. The outside was smudged, but the quickly-scrawled address clearly read _the Burrow_. He opened the back of the envelope and pulled out the folded parchment inside.

His first instinct was that the paper had been dropped in a puddle, but after a moment he noticed that this was not the case. The splotches of smudges were small and splashed. Almost like tears.

A knot caught in James's throat.

The letter held three words.

_Clancy is dead._

* * *

James ushered his girlfriend outside. She had been silent, but the sobs that she had been uttering were now building up in volume. The parchment was clutched, crumpled, in her hands. She refused to relinquish her grasp.

'I—I'll Apparate you back.'

Cordelia nodded, tears streaming down her face. It seemed as though, were James not holding her steady, she would have collapsed onto the grass. They were far enough away for no one to pay much attention. The band was still playing, everybody was still dancing. Nobody had noticed their absence—the speeches had been made, there was no need for the Best Man now.

'Cordelia...'

'Home,' she said in a strangled voice. Her head anchored itself in James's shoulder. 'I want to go home!'

He nodded, holding her tight. 'I'll take you home,' he said quietly. If it wasn't his job to be strong, James probably would have been bewildered. He had liked Clancy: Clancy had known about his feelings—she had known his_ grandparents_—Clancy... Clancy couldn't be dead! She couldn't have just —just _died_—that wasn't fair! His breath hitched. 'Hold on, all right?'

Cordelia's tears had wet his only suit. It took him a strange, insane split second to notice this; James then twisted on the spot—his girlfriend following in a slightly dragged manner—and, together, they rocketed through suffocating shadow.

* * *

_**January 4**_

* * *

Clancy's funeral was held the next day.

Many weren't present—either dead or unaccounted for—but the date couldn't have been moved for their sake. The Hogwarts Express returned to Scotland the next day, taking with it both of the old woman's grandchildren.

Everybody cried at the service. It was a black occasion, and never in a million years would James have thought that he would wear the same suit two days in a row, to the opposite spectrum of gatherings.

A lament was played for the witch: slow, quiet, with a mournful melody.

It was a difficult notion to understand—how quickly life could claim someone who had, hours before their passing, seemed so full of the very things that made being alive so wonderful. Sure, Clancy had been diseased; for many months, she had been, but nobody had thought of the distress those left behind would have felt before they could ever let her go.

That's how it always is with life. Those who deserve it most often don't get their reward. Though perhaps that's what the next life is for: the Great Something, or Nothing, built upon those who are rightful, not those who are fortunate. It is a rare occasion when both are true.


	27. Out of Sight and Mind

**Disclaimer:** Go, Jo! And somebody who's strumming on my heartstrings like he was a Grade 8. (AKA _Ed_!)

**AN:** I'm really tempted to make some musical reference in the name of every chapter from now on. So, er, don't be like, shocked or something. (I hope this chapter isn't too much about Cordelia... I'm growing to dislike the amount of space she and James take up in this.)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

"**Out of Sight and Mind"**

**Or**

"**Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw".**

* * *

_**January 5**_

* * *

Scorpius hadn't hugged Cordelia since fourth year.

At the time, they had just got out of the Arithmancy exam and were both feeling incredibly fulfilled. But back in those days they both had grandmothers.

It was for this reason he was hugging her again. They were standing on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, both fifteen minutes earlier than anybody else they knew, and Cordelia's grandmother was dead.

'How are you holding up?' asked the Slytherin Prefect.

Cordelia pulled out of the hug and tried for a smile. 'Well, it's been less than two days, but... but I—I think I'll be okay...' On the final word, her voice cracked and tears welled up in her eyes.

'Whoa, whoa, whoa—Cordelia... don't cry, it's all right—er—'

Having never really had much experience with this sort of thing (both losing relatives and seeing girls cry), Scorpius didn't really know what there was to do except give her another hug. He didn't have any sisters: he had no idea what was too excessive or... the closest thing he had to a cousin was Teddy Lupin, and it wasn't as though he was going to get all buddy-buddy with _that_ second cousin any time soon...

'Where's Patricia?' Cordelia asked, thankfully sounding a lot less teary. She was wiping her eyes and looking around.

Scorpius shrugged. 'Knowing her, she's probably asleep. I mean, the train doesn't leave for ninety minutes.'

'But she's a _Prefect_,' said the Ravenclaw. 'We have our meeting.'

'It's not like you and I are Head Boy and Girl, though; and we're here first.' Scorpius took a moment to think about it. 'Where _are_ Potter and Tennant?'

Cordelia's first-year brother, Mitch, who had been speaking with a friend up until this point, came close by. He hung a little back, as though worried about intruding on their conversation. His sister ushered him over.

'What's the problem?' she asked.

'I just wanted to ask if you had a Sickle.'

Cordelia rummaged around in her rucksack, but Scorpius picked one out of his pocket and handed it to a wide-eyed Mitchell.

'Oh, Scorpius—really, you don't have to...'

The Slytherin grinned. 'What's the trouble? I'm _rich_.'

* * *

The Prefect's meeting adjourned quite quickly, and most of those present were back in their compartments before the Hogwarts Express had cleared out of London. Scorpius, Patricia, Andy and Albus hurried off to find Louis, who had been keeping space for them in Compartment E; Rose fluttered off to her friends, James and Cordelia to somewhere further down the train (though the Head Boy had no intentions: he wanted Fred and Barbara to be alone for a while and so he was going to get acquainted with the Ravenclaw side of life), and Barbara—if it wasn't obvious by this point—went off to find her boyfriend.

She found him in the corridor as he was leaving the crowded Weasley compartment (they had been hoarding the W section of the train for years now). 'Hey!'

Fred's face split into a wide grin. 'Hey!' He frowned.

'What's wrong?'

'You're back in your boring old Hogwarts robes,' he said. 'What about the Barbara from the Christmas Party, or the wedding?'

The Head Girl made a dramatic face. 'Alas,' she cried, 'Christmas Barbara and Wedding Barbara are gone—back to boring old Hogwarts Barbara who reads too much and enjoys following rules!'

Fred smiled. 'That's the part I've been worried about.'

'Do you think I'd dock points from you? Have I _ever_?'

He shook his head. 'You've been an absolutely _stellar _best friend for the past six years. Forget I said anything.'

'Sure,' said Barbara tersely. '_Best friend_.'

'Oh, come on! You know I didn't mean it like that!'

The Head Girl laughed, for she _had_ been aware of him making the statement, and the two of them passed down the corridor in search of an empty compartment. A couple of third-years hurried by, mumbling something about whether Professor Tofty's Sour Stars or Apple Asteroids tasted better.

The old woman in charge of the food trolley trundled up to them. She was a pretty-faced witch, really, though she was certainly over seventy. She smiled endearingly at the seventh-years.

'Anything from the trolley, loves?'

Fred dug out the amount he needed to pay for three Raspberry Ribbons and Barbara bought some Toffee Twists. They then partook in a conversation about how magical sweets almost _always_ contained alliteration in their names.

'What about liquorice wands, sugar quills?'

Fred contemplated it. 'I think those are the only two.'

'Jelly slugs. Any variant of cauldron sweets. Acid pops. Tooth-flossing Stringmints. _Need I continue_?'

He rolled his eyes. 'You've got me beat, Barbs.'

The Head Girl looked triumphant.

* * *

It was four to a carriage on the way up to the school. Scorpius and Patricia hopped into Albus and Louis's one just as the one in front began to pull away. Patricia's nose was bright red, and snow clung to Scorpius's already white-blond hair; Albus was wearing a pair of thick gloves and Louis had a beanie pulled down so low on his face that it practically covered his eyes.

'How was Teddy and Victoire's wedding?' asked Scorpius.

Both boys shrugged.

'It wasn't _bad_,' said Louis. 'I mean, it was pretty brilliant, except for these excitable French girls—my cousin Cecile and her mates—'

'—wouldn't bloody leave us alone!' Albus complained loudly.

'But they _were_ pretty, weren't they?' Patricia suggested. She looked at Louis. 'I mean—given your mum, and your sisters...'

'They weren't awful,' Albus admitted, 'but I don't cotton too well to the giggly, half-abusively clingy type.'

Both Louis and Albus were remembering the scene as they left earlier that day for Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Cecile and her friends had swooped upon them and showered them in affectionate hugs and kisses.

'I will meess you, Al! I've 'ad _so_ much fun!' one had cried, practically sobbing.

Another: 'next time we come zere seemply _must_ be a Queedeetch game! I'd _love_ to see you all play eet! I am _terrible_.'

One who was most certainly not good cousin Cecile had said, 'Louis, you must tell me next time you come to France—I'm sure we would 'ave a breelliant time togezzer!'

With, of course, much giggling and gossiping on the subject of Lily and Roxanne, who they seemed to dislike simply because both girls had played Quidditch over the Christmastime.

'Did you get to the Transfiguration homework, then?' Scorpius asked.

Albus nodded. 'I've probably scraped an A.'

'_Acceptable_?' said Louis incredulously. 'I would have thought more of you, Al. What with being considered for Head Boy next year!'

Albus rolled his eyes. 'I'm pretty certain I'm not going to be made Head Boy. Not after James—two years in a row of Potter boys? Doesn't sound successful to me.'

'Have faith,' Scorpius told him. 'You're probably the most likely person: easily the best Prefect.'

'You two have the same marks,' Patricia reminded. 'I'd say the draw's out of you two.'

And, as on many an occasion, Patricia was right. But we'll talk about that when we get there.

* * *

_**January 6 & 7**_

* * *

Quidditch practices intensified over Friday and Saturday evening. Instead of just running drills in the air, James had his team actually running.

Laps.

Chris Wood hung back with Roxanne, both of them puffing and panting and cursing the ground that James walked on; Lily, Barbara and Albus a little closer to the front, though still incredibly tired; Fred and James striding confidently out the front.

'Don't you want that _Quidditch-toned body_, Al?'

'I don't understand what a _Quidditch-toned body_ would be, considering we spend the entire game sitting down.'

'But don't you want to look athletic? Like this?'

Albus groaned at his brother's statement. 'You just want an excuse to take your shirt off.'

'An excuse?' called James, doing what the rest of them had feared (removing his _Appleby Arrows_ t-shirt). 'You don't need an excuse to do good in the world.'

'What good is that?' replied Roxanne. 'Blinding us with your monstrosity?'

'We're supposed to be your team!' Wood complained. 'If we can't see, how are we supposed to guard hoops or throw Quaffles or avoid Bludgers or _catch the bloody Snitch_?'

James began to wave his hips around and run his hands through his dark, wayward hair. 'You just wish you looked like this!'

'What? A shirtless twat outside in the back end of winter?'

* * *

_**January 8**_

* * *

Almost everybody was bogged down by homework that weekend. Some sixth years were stuck in the library, finishing their holiday assignments in hopes that they wouldn't be too harshly penalised. There wasn't a Hogsmeade trip: there wouldn't be one until February, and so everyone who had any free time was either down at the Quidditch pitch _practicing_ or down at the Quidditch pitch _watching_.

Needless to say, after sixty-eight girls from fourth through seventh year showed up to watch Gryffindor's Saturday night practice, James trained with his shirt _on_.

'Does he look better shirtless than I do?' asked Scorpius on Sunday morning in the Slytherin common room.

Patricia raised her eyebrows, stopping momentarily in the process of writing a letter to her mother. 'I wouldn't know. He was wearing a top.'

'That's not what I heard Misty Mumps saying.'

'Well, for one, you probably shouldn't take anything to heart if it's said by someone named _Misty_—certainly not if her name's filled with alliteration—she's also a _Hufflepuff_—but, no. Potter was definitely wearing a shirt.'

* * *

'Scorpius insists upon asking me whether it's he or your brother who looks better shirtless,' Patricia informed Albus.

The Gryffindor, who was on his way to the library with the Slytherin girl, chuckled. 'Well,' he said, 'as someone who has seen both James _and_ Scorpius shirtless —as of New Year's Eve—I'd say they're about equal. James _is_ taller, though, so that might count for something... but Scorpius is definitely still a contender...'

They reached the doors of their destination and dodged a trio of burly Ravenclaws who were hurrying out. The library was almost full: it seemed as though everybody was cramming in their homework on Sunday evening, including Molly and Alice. The two girls took up the better half of a table designed to seat twelve.

'You seem more invested in this bet than I am,' Patricia noted.

Albus grinned. 'What can I say? My brother or my... _boyfriend_?'

He gasped extravagantly and began flipping his hair in an almost grotesque fashion. Patricia had to stuff the end of her Slytherin tie in her mouth so to subdue her laughter.

* * *

_**January 9**_

* * *

'For the first Monday back,' said Melissa, 'it seems like we've been at school forever.'

Lottie, who had forced Rose into letting the smaller girl do her hair, nodded. 'Well, I don't know about _you_,' she said, 'but _I_ spent the holidays here. The Christmas feast was wonderful... and McLaggen really isn't all _that_ horrible.'

'Don't start on that,' Liz warned.

Rose gritted her teeth. 'You didn't hear him talking about Lily, did you? He's a prick.'

'And _you're_ all _prigs_; so there's no moot point here.'

Lottie twirled Rose's dark red hair between her fingers almost expertly. In fifteen minutes, it had gone from a messy, severe ponytail to delicate curls: plaited tightly and then released. Rose still didn't really see the point of the affair, but she let it go on. She preferred Lottie doing something of slight purpose to something incredibly stupid. (Snogging McLaggen, for instance, which it seemed as though she wanted to do.)

'Have you talked to Bowen?' Liz asked Rose.

'Of course,' she replied. 'We're going to go to Hogsmeade together in February.'

Lottie squealed, almost ripping out half of Rose's hair in the process of her flailing. 'You've got a _boyfriend_! And a proper one, this time!'

Rose, who had pulled away and was now rubbing her sore scalp, said, 'no, I don't. Will isn't my boyfriend. I just... I kissed him, and we're going to go out. _Once_.'

'Once?'

'Perhaps more than that, if we both have fun,' Rose edited. 'But so much happened last term that love seems like the only thing on anybody's mind these days—I went out with Scorpius, then he started going out with Day; Barbara went out with Clarke, and now she's with Fred; James _didn't_ slag around and now he's dating Cordelia, who Al also used to fancy—and to top the whole bloody thing off, that Harris bitch pretended to like Hugo for a bet! In short: I'm nervous. If that was less than half of this school-year, it's going to be a shock to see what comes next.'

Liz nodded mournfully. 'Six months to go until we're out of here.'

'And then two months to go until we're back,' Lottie reminded.

Melissa looked sad. 'I don't want to have to think about seventh year before we're done with sixth. Bloody hell: I don't even want to think about what happens _after_ Hogwarts yet. Why can't we just keep coming back?'

'I can't _wait_ to be rid of some of our classmates, though,' Liz divulged. 'Like that Shelley—and Higgs. She's a case of sour grapes if ever I saw one.'

'Has anyone ever tried human-to-fruit Transfiguration?'

'Suggest it to James. Something tells me he'd do it.'

'Do you want to know what _I'd_ do to J_—_'

'—no, Mel!' Rose and Liz cried. 'We don't!'

* * *

_**January 10**_

* * *

Mitchell Gilbert was good at coping with grief. He had been one of the last people to speak to his grandmother. Perhaps it was to do with his age, or the fact that he was a boy, because Cordelia had cried at least three times.

Mitch knew that his sister was trying her best to act like she was all right: there was a lot to do, what with keeping up her marks, Prefect's duties and the upcoming Quidditch match against Gryffindor. But she wasn't totally okay. It had been just over a week since their grandmother's passing.

There was another thing Mitch didn't quite understand. People, when talking about somebody's death, did not say the word itself. They said things like "passing". Death wasn't a sport. Sure, there was passing on to the next life to be considered, but Mitch thought shying away from the word "death" was sad. Part of life _was_ death. Merlin knew _he_ spent most of his time thinking about it.

Mitchell Gilbert was good at coping with grief. (But he was more worried about his sister.)

* * *

_**January 11**_

* * *

Barbara woke up half an hour late on Wednesday. She scrambled out of bed, cursing herself for not waking sooner and cursing her housemates for not having checked that the Head Girl had left her dormitory.

Breakfast was out of the question. She would be lucky to make it to her first morning lesson on time.

Showering quickly, Barbara raced out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her, shuffling through the set of drawers to find the clothing she needed. It took her five minutes to get dressed and for a drying charm to set properly on her hair. Barbara pulled it up into a ponytail and checked her appearance once more in the mirror. Her skin looked splotchy and red; an after-effect of the heat of the shower. She applied some foundation that would hopefully hide it, brushed her teeth quickly, then grabbed her bag and hurried out of the dormitory.

Professor Slughorn was just beginning to address the class when Barbara hurried in. He cast her a lenient glance—she was one of his non-Weasley favourites—as she slipped into a seat beside James.

'What took you so long, Dex?' he breathed as Professor Slughorn began explaining about Dream-Visiting Potions.

'Overslept,' Barbara whispered back.

Professor Slughorn's voice gained their attention. 'Dream-Visiting Potions are, as you would expect from their name, potions that allow the drinker to visit another location once they fall asleep. In some cases, this also means they can see what another person is doing, and sometimes interact, but that depends on the potency of the brew. If you will turn to page thirty-six in your books, all the instructions will be there. The maker of the best potion will receive a bonus: instead of two rolls of parchment on the Potion for homework, only one roll will be required.' He beamed around at all of them, who suddenly looked a lot more awake at the prospect of only having to do half the homework, and clapped his hands. 'Chop, chop! Let's get started!'

* * *

Halfway through the lesson, Professor Slughorn began pacing around the room to check on Potions and their progress. There were five Gryffindors left in the N.E.W.T. Potions class: Barbara, James, Molly, Elena and Fred (though he had managed to do so solely because Barbara and James had forced him not to be lazy), and all five were at different stages of their brewing.

Barbara had managed to get a little way, and the required turquoise swirls were rising from her cauldron; James, having been top of the class the previous year, was ahead of everyone else, his turquoise swirls had turned aqua, then violet, just as the instructions had said they would. Molly was at the aqua-swirling stage, and Elena was behind the others, simply thankful that nothing had blown up in her face yet.

As though on cue, it did.

Fred jumped out of the line of fire and almost knocked over his own cauldron, which was spiralling out chartreuse sparks that smelled strangely of pickled prunes, and which Professor Slughorn avoided at a wide berth, looking something between amused and disappointed.

The other six students in the class—Will Bowen and three other Ravenclaws, Isaiah Zabini and some nameless Hufflepuff—had similar progress. Will and Zabini were doing just as well as James, though in the last three minutes of class, James's potion was completed perfectly, and the other two were still a stage behind.

'I taught his grandmother!' Slughorn told them for what seemed like the fiftieth time in seven years. 'And his father—Potions talent runs in this family, doesn't it? Yes, James, you've won the prize: one roll of parchment, my dear boy... now, off you go!'

* * *

Andy shuffled out of History of Magic, listening to everybody else complain about the homework assignment. She really didn't have the energy to bother with whining. A week to finish a roll of parchment wasn't unreasonable. If Binns had asked for two or three, then perhaps she would have contested to it, but there really was no point in doing so.

'Why in hell did I continue History of Magic? None of us _had_ to!' said Cadwallader.

Somebody Andy couldn't see replied, 'it's an easy pass. That's all.'

Patricia caught up to her in the hall. None of her housemates—minus Scorpius and Patricia herself, for the same reason somebody had just mentioned—took History of Magic. 'Want to join Ruby and I? We're going up to the library to get started on homework.' She held up an empty roll of parchment, slightly crumbled by her Potions book.

Andy shrugged. 'I suppose I should. It's better than moping around doing nothing.'

Patricia nodded, beckoning for somebody behind them to approach. 'We should probably hurry; don't want all those Ravenclaws taking all the space,' she commented as Ruby slotted in beside her.

'You know, I never would've taken you two for the "trip to the library"-type.'

Ruby replied, 'it's a ruse. Venice has been going on about Corner and her boyfriend non-stop since about October, and we're sick of it.'

'Think he's just doing it to pull her leg? You know, make Venice jealous?'

Both Slytherins shrugged.

'Whatever McCormick's plan is, it's made living in the dormitories a right pain in the arse for us.'

When they reached the library five minutes later, there were three tables spare. The three girls quickly hurried to claim the one near the window and, with the unfolding of rolled parchment and the clink of a quill against an inkbottle, they began drafting their essays.

'This might be the longest relationship Corner's ever been in,' Andy thought aloud.

Patricia, who had managed two sentences on the introduction of her homework assignment, set down her quill with a sigh. 'True say.'

Ruby smirked. 'Don't know _what_ she's trying to do—not as though she's the type for long relationships.'

'But then look at Potter,' Patricia suggested. 'I guess it just takes a while.'

'Speaking of Potter—wasn't Corner trying to get in with him just before she started going out with McCormick? Seems a bit _sus' _to me...'

Andy and Patricia shrugged simultaneously, and for the moment, everybody returned to their essays. The library was blissfully quiet, almost too good to be true. On any other day, the four Marauders would have set off some kind of prank, but everybody knew the Gryffindors were being careful so to not be suspended from the approaching Quidditch game against Ravenclaw. None of the girls had spoken to Albus since the previous weekend, and this was probably on James's orders, because Slytherins were bound to side with their opposition, and Hufflepuffs mixed between. Nobody could be trusted.

'Let's just hope it doesn't involve us,' said Andy gently. 'Whatever ends up happening with those two.'

* * *

_**January 12**_

* * *

The dormitory of the fourth-year Gryffindor girls was divided into two parties: Lily, Lucy and a girl named Poppy Coote, and Alana Harris and her friend Valerie. It had been an almost tangible line of separation since everybody returned from Christmas break. Lily and Lucy were still fuming at what Alana and Valerie had done, and Poppy thought the whole thing had been mean and down-right despicable; Alana and Valerie felt a mixture of triumphant and bitter. But nobody actually talked about what had happened.

Thursday evening brought with it another of these uncomfortable, annoying affairs. The dormitory was nearly silent, and after about fifteen minutes, Alana and Valerie departed from the room with much swishing of hair and icy muttering. When the door closed behind them, Lucy groaned. She flung herself down onto her bed and let out a sigh.

Poppy looked unhappy. 'Is it going to be like this forever?'

'Until she apologizes to Hugo and the rest of us,' said Lily. 'Well, that or when she pitches herself off the Astronomy Tower. Whichever comes first.'

Lucy made a face and told Lily, 'don't be harsh, Lils.'

'I think I deserve to be harsh!' she muttered. 'After what that cow did.'

'You've already hexed her,' Lucy reasoned, 'and you got a detention for it.'

Lily shrugged off this comment as though it meant little to her, and she returned to her Astronomy assignment, for it was from her homework that she had been inspired to give Alana Harris _that_ option of death.

'It's been almost two months,' Poppy stated.

'I think I'm allowed eight weeks of bitterness,' said Lily, but she didn't sound harsh.

Lucy looked at her cousin. Eight weeks could very quickly turn into eight months.

* * *

_**January 13**_

* * *

Felix Thomas really _was_ quite good-looking. He was reasonably tall, which dark skin and perfect teeth. He smiled a lot, and though he didn't play too much sport, he had long, toned arms. In retrospect, he looked a lot like his father; as much as Albus Potter or Scorpius Malfoy mirrored theirs.

He was crossing the Entrance Hall to breakfast on Friday morning when Elena Finnigan approached him.

'Felix!'

He turned around and smiled at her. 'Elena.'

'Have you heard about the group of us going to Spain at the end of this year?'

Felix hadn't heard too much on the subject, and so he replied: 'A little.'

'Well, Jess said she was thinking about it—Quentin's aunt has a summer house there, so he was planning on making a trip there for a couple of weeks, just to celebrate that school's over. He's invited everybody in our year... from Gryffindor, of course—apparently, almost everyone's going to go.' Elena paused, looking at him. 'I'm surprised you're not the most informed: aren't you two best mates?'

'Yeah—yeah, we are,' Felix reassured her, 'but he's too busy organizing it with everybody else to actually go over details with me.'

Elena laughed. 'Okay, well... I'm only going to go if enough other people are.'

'Don't want to end up by yourself in Spain with Quentin, then?' asked Felix, who did not fancy the thought himself.

Elena shook her head. She then said skilfully, 'I'll cut you a deal, Felix—if you go to Spain, I'll go to Spain.'

Ignoring the unexplainable jolt in his stomach, Felix nodded. 'Seems like a fair deal. You've probably beat your dad to the punch.'

Since they had grown up together, Seamus Finnigan trusted his best friend's son with the safety of his daughter. Elena knew this, and she replied, 'that sounds true enough. So you'll go, then?'

'If you will.'

Felix would follow Elena to Spain; that was for sure. But even she didn't know he would have followed her much further than that.

* * *

_**January 14 & 15**_

* * *

The first Quidditch game of the season was a week away. Ravenclaw had the pitch booked for Saturday, and practice went just as ruthlessly as the previous weekends had for the Gryffindor team. Not as many people showed up to watch, because it wasn't as though Will Bowen or Archie Myers were going to be taking their shirts off, and even if they had, they probably couldn't have attracted the audience that James Potter's allure did.

Bridget retired from practice in a grumbling lather. Somehow, Cordelia's practice had her sweating, even in the cold, biting end of winter. Reed Connery and Seth Shaw were complaining about sore muscles in the changing rooms, and Archie suggested murtlap essence for numbing the pain.

'I've got some here,' said Will, passing it over in a little bottle. 'Went to Madam Pomfrey this morning; I thought we'd need some.'

Gabbie was out of breath. 'I don't... understand... why we have... to run... it's not as... though we're... going to... be running in... the game...'

Cordelia, entering the changing rooms from packing up the playing equipment, looked around at them all. 'I'm sorry,' she said immediately. 'It's just —you know how hard Gryffindor's been practicing! They're going to be the most difficult team to play this year.'

'Don't want to lose to your boyfriend, do you?' asked Seth.

The Captain dismissed this with a wave of her hand. 'James doesn't matter. He's the opposition. _We have to focus_—be agile, ready for whatever Gryffindor has up their sleeve.'

'And if we lose?'

Cordelia looked at Archie, for it was he who had spoken. 'It's not as though any of us are at our peaks at the moment, but if we can't win... we'll just have to give them hell trying.'

* * *

Rose sat alone in the library, at a table opposite Will Bowen's. She was reading a small, torn piece of parchment with a smile's ghost etched upon her thin, freckled face.

_Is this what it's come to? Sneaking around to even have a conversation?_

She scribbled a reply to the Ravenclaw's earlier sentiments.

_James has forbidden practically any Gryffindor to talk to the opposition._

Will picked up the note when it flew over to him. He read it once, and then wrote a response.

_So I'm the enemy?_

Rose chuckled.

_He wasn't like this for Slytherin—he considers Ravenclaw more of a threat._

Will looked around the library furtively before penning his answer.

_Cordelia's the same . Think it's something to do with them going out?_

Rose contemplated it. She tried to think of things from her cousin's point of view. He was mature enough, but something as petty as getting one-up on his girlfriend could possibly appeal. Though she wasn't completely sure about Cordelia's side of things. She knew the girl's grandmother had just died, which probably didn't make a big splash in terms of Quidditch, but people dealt with grief in different ways. Cordelia hadn't been sobbing at every opportunity, so Rose guessed she was something of a "suffer in silence" type.

Realizing that her mind had completely wandered from the subject at hand, Rose quickly wrote back to the Ravenclaw who was waiting for her to do so.

_Could be. Say—just while we're talking about Cordelia and things—has she been doing all right? You know, I heard about her grandmother._

Will picked up the note and looked a bit uncertain as he read.

_She_ _seems okay. "Seems". But you can't ever be sure, right? _

No, Rose decided. No, you can't.

* * *

_**January 16**_

* * *

'Why do we even _take_ History of Magic? I wish I'd dropped it at the start of this year—no,' Fred amended, 'in fact—screw that—I wish I'd dropped it in sixth year.' He turned to James. '_Why_ didn't you let me drop it in sixth year?'

The Head Boy shrugged. 'It's easy to get good marks, as long as you've got decent notes.'

'Well,' said Barbara, setting her book down on the mat in front of them, safe distance from the fire in the Gryffindor common room, but only just. '_I_, for one, agree with Fred. I wish I'd dropped it.'

'We're just as mental as Myers and those couple of mates of his, and Clarke and his stupid mate, and—and... I can't actually believe I'm saying this—but I bloody wish I'd been like a Slytherin and just done the minimum!'

Fred, red-faced from this argument, had been rendered incoherent. He was incredibly angry, and Molly, who was just coming in from the library, noticed. She was the fourth and only Gryffindor seventh-year who took History of Magic.

'What's got your wand in a knot?' she asked Fred.

'He's wishing he dropped History of Magic,' James informed her.

Barbara supplied: 'I wish I'd dropped it, too.'

Molly nodded, understanding. She sighed. 'I would have, actually, if it weren't for Archie.'

The other three made a face.

'Well, no matter what _you_ three say—_I_ think History of Magic's getting easier and easier. In case you haven't noticed: _it's all about our family_.'

Fred rolled his eyes. '_Still_.'

'I'd rather have a free,' Molly decided airily, picking a sugar quill out of her bag, unpacking it and then beginning to eat.

'You're looking awfully jolly for a Monday evening.'

Louis slid into the seat to James's right, forcing the Head Boy's feet from where they had been lazily placed. With a sour look, James plopped them back onto Louis's lap.

'Be grateful I have the decency to wear shoes, _trois_.'

Louis rolled his eyes. 'Get your _trois_ out of my lap,' he advised.

James shook his head, lifting his chin with a hint of cockiness. Fred, Barbara and Molly chuckled, but didn't speak.

'Please—continue with your conversation. What was it about?'

Fred groaned. 'How we all—well, minus James—wish we'd stopped taking History of Magic.'

Louis nodded enthusiastically. 'Oh, hell yeah. I swear: next year, me and Al and pretty much everybody else are getting out of it as fast as we can.'

'Pity, actually,' said James. 'It's all about Voldemort for you lot next year.'

'And I know all about him and how much of a prick he was so there's really no point in me taking the class.'

Molly pointed her sugar quill at her cousin to show that she agreed.

James crossed his arms and glared sideways into the fire.

* * *

_**January 17 & 18**_

* * *

Albus only had three lessons on Tuesday, and all of them were in the morning. His afternoons were blissfully free. (Though "blissfully free" usually meant "long and frequent trips to the library doing work he had plenty of time to do".)

But this Tuesday afternoon in particular, after Muggle Studies and Charms and Herbology and an interrogation from James about making sure he hadn't talked to too many Ravenclaws that day and hadn't mentioned anything about Gryffindor's game strategy at all—how dangerous could Hogwarts be?—Albus found himself cornered by Scorpius Malfoy.

'You're not allowed to be smart and boring,' he told Albus.

'Oh, I'm not?'

Albus raised his eyebrows at Scorpius's determined expression. The Slytherin's arms were crossed, and for once, he was without the company of his girlfriend. When Albus asked him about this, Scorpius said that Patricia was off doing girly things that he himself found confusing, and that Albus was—despite their not knowing each other for too long—his best friend other than his significant _Patricia_, so the two of them were spending the rest of the afternoon together.

'Well, that sounds awfully romantic, doesn't it?'

Scorpius's grey-green eyes glinted. 'Positively _steamy_,' he replied. 'Now—are you coming or not?'

'Where are we going?'

'Hm... Gryffindor Tower, first. So you can drop off your books and all that other unnecessary heavy stuff. And then, probably, outside to the grounds? Or the Room of Requirement. The Room of Requirement works, too.'

Albus's eyebrows travelled even further up his forehead. 'You know about the Room of Requirement?'

Scorpius shrugged. 'My dad spent a hefty portion of _his_ sixth year up there, from what I've been told.'

Albus considered this. 'Same rings true of my parents, I suppose.'

They were still standing in the middle of an empty corridor. Nobody had made any move in the direction of Gryffindor tower, nor the Room of Requirement. Scorpius seemed to notice this and didn't approve.

He clapped his hands and pointed behind him. 'We should go.'

Albus nodded. They made the trip to Gryffindor tower, and then embarked to the fifth-floor corridor, where the entrance to the Room of Requirement was located. Both sixth-years were focused on "_I need a place to hang around for a few hours_", and so it was no surprise when a door appeared, opening up to a room filled with comfortable chairs and music that they both liked.

'The room doesn't do food or drink,' said Scorpius, somewhat disappointedly.

'I don't really understand the limits of the room, though—could we use a Summoning Charm to get, say, a butterbeer or something?'

Scorpius smirked. 'Why use a Summoning Charm when you've got the real thing?' He removed from his pockets two bottles of butterbeer, and he looked extremely proud of himself doing it.

'Scorpius Malfoy, you never cease to surprise me.'

'I read somewhere that that's an admirable trait in a significant other.'

Albus took the butterbeer when Scorpius offered it to him. 'I don't know how far we're taking this—it's getting pretty intense. You _do_ have a girlfriend.'

'She doesn't have to know.'

'_Scorpius_.'

'...Fine.'

There was a moment of silence in which both boys opened their butterbeers and took a sip.

'You _really_ need a girlfriend, Al.'

The Gryffindor glared at him, though the gesture wasn't hateful. 'Think I understand that well enough for myself, thanks.'

'While we're on the subject of nothing in particular...' Scorpius sighed. 'This is odd.'

'What is?'

Scorpius gestured around them. 'This,' he repeated. 'Potter'—he pointed at Albus—'Malfoy'—he pointed to his own chest—'our dads wanted to murder each other when they were our age. They almost _did_.'

Albus took a moment to think about it, and then he shrugged. 'It's not our war. It never was.'

'Your brother seems to think so.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'My brother's a twat.'

Scorpius laughed. 'Well, there's something we agree on, then.'

* * *

As the sixth-year N.E.W.T. students left Defence Against the Dark Arts, Patricia—who, herself, did not take the subject—sidled up to the group as they headed to the Great Hall for lunch.

'So,' she began, 'what did you do yesterday afternoon?'

Her boyfriend replied, 'I spent the two hours after lunch alone in very close quarters with Albus Severus Potter.'

Patricia, like several others who were passing by them, blinked. 'Please tell me it remained platonic.'

Scorpius laughed. 'He insisted.'

And even though she knew that Scorpius would never _actually_ cheat on her—especially not with _Al_—Patricia found the whole thing a strange mixture of disheartening and hilarious.

* * *

_**January 19**_

* * *

Thursday was a good day for the Head Girl.

She had two frees, and the same amount of lessons in the morning. Granted, her afternoon was filled with the dreaded History of Magic, but that was the final stretch of the day and she didn't have anybody to learn from after that.

The day began after breakfast: at nine o'clock, Defence Against the Dark Arts began. Barbara liked the subject, though she was afraid of ever having to use the knowledge she had come across during her seven-year education. (Because that meant there was something dangerous—perhaps even _perilous_—at work. And while the Hat had placed her in Gryffindor, Barbara was not good under pressure.)

They were, in this particular lesson, learning a very difficult and complex piece of magic: a Patronus Charm.

'Why aren't we learning this in Charms class, if it's technically a "charm"?' muttered Quentin Embry, avoiding a large trunk at the back of the room. 'And where's our Professor?'

James looked at him like he knew something Quentin didn't. 'I don't think Professor Macmillan will be in today.'

And, as it turned out, Professor Macmillan wasn't.

'It hasn't been long since my last visit, has it?' asked Harry Potter. 'I came in October to see the sixth-years about non-verbal spells, and now I'm here to talk to _you_ about Patronus Charms. Which,' he added as a side note to Quentin, 'are being taught in this class and not by Professor Flitwick simply because their application is more related to defence. From one thing, in particular. Can anyone tell me what a Patronus Charm is used against? Molly?'

'Dementors,' said the eighteen-year-old matter-of-factly.

'Exactly. I won't be asking you to go up _against_ any Dementors!' Mr. Potter reassured them quickly. 'But—you know—just for practice, I'll be teaching you how to perform a corporeal Patronus.'

A few of their classmates looked questioning, and James muttered, 'he means a Patronus with a _form_. Taking the shape of some kind of animal.' This quelled their confusion.

Mr. Potter had them spread out around the room, with the instructions to think of the happiest memory they could: to let it take control of them until all they could feel was the joy in the midst of this memory.

'_Expecto Patronum!_'

'_Excepto Pitronum!_'

'_Expacto Petroleum!_'

'Okay, Embry; that was just plain ridiculous.'

Of course, James was an easy front-runner. He had undoubtedly been practicing this charm for years. Almost at once, a strong figure bathed in glowing silver light sprung from his wand. The horse cantered around the room, looking—if possible—extremely proud of itself.

'Now,' he murmured to Fred, 'I'll have no comments on how I'm "hung", yeah?'

His cousin laughed.

'Surprised it's not a peacock,' Miles Clarke (who had been completely unsuccessful in his attempts to conjure a Patronus) muttered to himself.

He was then knocked over by Molly's sleek-furred silver serval, and almost everybody in the class snickered a little bit, including Mr. Potter, who hid his smirk in the sleeve of his shirt and tried to pass it off as a cough.

Fred conjured a Patronus in the form of a spider-monkey, which tried to leap up and catch Barbara's momentarily-conjured hummingbird.

Everybody left Defence Against the Dark Arts feeling quite exhilarated. They were also quite pleased that no homework had been assigned.

Barbara's free hour went quickly, and in the block before lunch, she found herself heading down to Herbology. Professor Longbottom was probably one of the cooler Professors at Hogwarts. Everybody liked him (minus a few Slytherins, but that was because he had given them well-deserved T grades), and he didn't really wear the stereotypical teachers' robes; he had confided to their class in third year that they were hot and simply impractical for Herbology, and he always had a pair of sunglasses visible in the greenhouse.

In short: Neville Longbottom was brilliant.

* * *

_**January 20**_

* * *

The Friday before the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor Quidditch match was intense.

Gabbie Sterling and Barbara Tennant were both being transported from class to class by a wealth of housemates to ensure no harm could come to them. There was a large amount of late arrivals in lessons because of this, but most teachers were understanding. The more experienced ones, those who had been teaching longer, had grown used to this sort of behaviour.

Cordelia Gilbert and James Potter were throwing one another glances in the corridors that somehow mixed sensual with challenging; they had not been seeing much of each other since Gryffindor had instigated the "No Fraternizing With The Enemy!" rule.

It was hard for either house to get to sleep that night, for they so anxiously awaited the following day. Both captains certainly didn't fall asleep until less than an hour before the crack of dawn.

* * *

_**January 21**_

* * *

'Gilbert.'

'Potter.'

'Want to know the first thing I'm going to do after Gryffindor beats you to a pulp?'

'Probably the same thing I'll do when _you_ lose.'

'Have a good long snog?'

'_Definitely_.'

Madam Hooch was far enough away that she didn't hear what the two Captains were talking about when they shook hands. The two teams mounted their brooms and awaited the release of the Snitch, Bludgers and the Quaffle.

Barbara and Gabbie hovered five feet apart, barely different in size even though the Gryffindor was four years older. James, Albus and Lily were lined up parallel to Cordelia, Bridget and Seth. Fred was smirking in Archie's direction, remembering—without a doubt—the collection of names he had created for the description of the Ravenclaw's flat face. Roxanne was looking determinedly at the Bludgers, not at Reed Connery. Wood and Will were too far apart to do anything dramatic, for they were already in their places in front of the goal hoops, but they were still surveying the pitch.

Madam Hooch's whistle began the game as Melissa Jordan began her commentary.

'It's Lily Potter of Gryffindor in possession of the Quaffle; she passes it to James... he rockets down the pitch; he's passing to Albus—_no!_ Intercepted by Gilbert of Ravenclaw; she shoots down to the goal, feints right and flings it in centre! Come on, Wood! Ugh—ten-nil to Ravenclaw!'

Chris passed the retrieved Quaffle to James, who hurried away with it.

In the stands, the blue and bronze supporters were cheering. Sprinkled among them were various Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, though the fate of Scorpius and Patricia was somewhat undecided. They had placed themselves right in the line that separated the Ravenclaw supporters from the Gryffindors, for they did not want to offend any of their friends.

'Goal!' cried Melissa. 'Goal by James Potter!'

Seth took the Quaffle from Will and attempted to make his way over to the goalposts, but instead he was struck with a Bludger from Roxanne, causing the red ball to drop out of his grasp and nicely into Albus's. Bridget had begun to tail him, which he noticed, and at the last moment Albus passed the Quaffle to Lily. He then stopped flying in mid-air and Bridget almost crashed into him. She flew off-course.

'It's—Bowen saves the goal! The score remains ten-all! Gilbert takes the Quaffle from her Keeper; she's got company! James Potter is closing in—they're side by side! Gilbert can't seem to shake him!'

'Merlin!' Cordelia cried, frustrated.

'No,' her boyfriend teased, still managing to whisper in her ear despite their accelerated speed. 'I'm _James_.'

Then Albus rocketed into the Ravenclaw's other side and Gryffindor took the Quaffle.

* * *

Fifteen minutes had passed, in which Gabbie sighted the Snitch three times, and Barbara two. Gryffindor had almost managed to catch it, one of those two times, but Archie had sent a skilfully-targeted Bludger to block the Seeker's path and, in succeeding, gave Fred another reason to dislike him.

'It's seventy-fifty to Gryffindor,' Melissa reminded the spectators. 'Davies in possession. She passes to Shaw; he avoids a Bludger sent by Fred Weasley and tries to get to the goalposts—he's blocked by Lily Potter! She's taken the Quaffle—she's almost to the other end of—_has Gilbert just taken it upon herself to get the Quaffle?_'

For this was the case: Cordelia had done something of a loop around Lily and, in the process, extracted the Quaffle from her clutches. This time, it was Albus who tailed her, but when he and James tried the same manoeuvre they had earlier, Cordelia pulled up the front of her broom and began a speedy ascension. The two Potter boys crashed into one another.

'Gilbert passes the Quaffle to Shaw—he shoots —Wood doesn't let it in! _Good job, Chris!_'

Gabbie sunk into a dive abruptly. Barbara, who was on the other side of the pitch at the time, followed steadily. However, at the last moment, the Ravenclaw pulled out of the descent. She hadn't seen the Snitch at all.

'Tennant narrowly avoids a collision with the floor of the Pitch...'

Reed set himself on the tail of a Bludger currently in pursuit of Seth Shaw. He reached it quickly and, instead, slammed it towards the area James Potter was just about to fly into.

The _thwack_ of the Bludger finding its mark resounded around the Quidditch Pitch. James looked momentarily shocked, as though feeling a Bludger collide with the back of his head hadn't occurred to him. Then too many things happened at once:

Gryffindor supporters screeched; the rest of the team looked on with shocked expressions, as well as many shouts of protest; and Cordelia Gilbert's eyes bulged open and she screamed, '_no!_' as she watched her boyfriend—who had been, for the past twenty minutes, quite annoying—fall, without the aid of even a broom, down to the grassy floor of the pitch.

'Cordelia, I am _so_ sorry!' Reed called. 'I wasn't aiming for his head, I promise!'

And though she knew Madam Pomfrey could mend him overnight, the Ravenclaw captain followed behind the opposing team in the direction of where their fallen Captain had been struck. Lily had hold of her oldest brother's broom; she set it lightly in the elevated part of the stands where her father sat. He had stayed behind to watch the game before returning to London later that evening.

Ravenclaw scored six more goals in the remaining twenty minutes of that game, but nobody really bothered celebrating Gryffindor's catch of the Snitch.

* * *

_**January 22**_

* * *

The Head Boy awoke on Sunday morning, very affronted that he wasn't surrounded by a large group of people looking incredibly worried about him. Madam Pomfrey told him that there had been such an influx that she had forced the visitors to leave, and that the only time they could return was after a proper serving of breakfast.

It may have been the medicine, because he had never actually had such a thought before, but James really loved Madam Pomfrey. She worked so tirelessly for the students' well-being and didn't get much in return at all. She was really, really fantastic. She just _was_.

He made a mental note to tell her, before June came, that she was wonderful.

James's thought process was interrupted by the removal of his empty breakfast tray and the sound of six pairs of feet approaching his end of the hospital wing.

Lily, Albus, Fred, Roxanne, Molly and Louis hurried to his bedside, all of them beaming to see him awake.

'So,' said Roxanne, 'you survived.'

'Don't sound so disappointed.'

'Well,' Fred joked, 'guess that kills my chances of being made replacement Quidditch Captain.'

Molly jabbed him with her elbow. The Head Boy propped himself up better in his bed.

'Where's everyone else?' asked James.

Albus rolled his eyes. 'There's a rule that only six visitors can come in at a time. Rose, Hugo and Lucy are out there with Barbara and Wood and everybody else in Gryffindor... and probably half of Hufflepuff as well.'

Lily looked from the brother who had just spoken to the one lying in bed with a bandage around his ridiculously messy hair. 'Cordelia's out there, too,' she said tactfully. 'She wanted to wait until all your relatives had gone through before she came in.'

'Oh!' said Fred suddenly. He jumped a little. 'We won the game! You know—against Ravenclaw. Davies got four goals and Shaw got two: after you, you know.' He gestured to the hospital bed and then mimed being hit in the head with a Bludger. 'But Barbs caught the Snitch!'

'Two hundred and twenty points to one hundred and ten,' Louis supplied.

'That's brilliant.'

There came a knock on the door of the ward, which was empty of patients, all but James. His six visitors looked toward the entryway.

'We should go.'

Fred grinned at his mended cousin. 'We'll see you when you get out, yeah?'

The Head Boy nodded and then watched his family leave. They were quickly replaced by Rose, Hugo, Lucy, Cordelia and the two remaining members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

'Are you doing all right, James?' Rose asked.

He shrugged. 'I've been better.'

'You've been _worse_,' Hugo muttered in an undertone.

James ignored this statement and instead turned his attention to Barbara. 'You caught the Snitch—thank Merlin for that! I wouldn't have been able to stand it if we lost to the bloody—'

'—_Excuse me_,' Cordelia's voice rang and the girl to whom it belonged stuck her hand up pointedly. 'Ravenclaw Captain over here.'

Their company chuckled.

Lucy told James, 'the _Prophet_ have already tried to turn this injury into a story.'

'It's bloody rubbish,' Wood put in. 'Makes you sound like a martyr.'

They discussed the article for a couple more minutes before the other five left to give James and his girlfriend some time alone. She sat down in the seat beside his bed.

'I always imagined the first time you saw me in bed to be a lot more... healthy. And... sexual.'

Cordelia laughed, and took his closer hand with hers. 'You still look pretty healthy to me, _Potter_.'

James sat up straighter. 'What about "sexual"? Does the bandage ruin it for you?' He pulled a few different poses, and then bit his lip, raising his eyebrows slightly as he did so, as if asking for approval.

'The lip bite might make up for the bandaged head,' Cordelia admitted.

She looked very pretty today (but then again, she was pretty every day), and James was just as sure that he loved her as the day he had told Clancy about it. Cordelia seemed to notice his smile falter.

'What's wrong?'

James shook his head. 'Nothing. You know —minus the head injury.'

'You're _healed_,' Cordelia reminded him. 'Madam Pomfrey told me so herself. She's just keeping you here until lunchtime, so that hopefully you can get away without everybody swarming you.'

He sighed. 'I love Madam Pomfrey.'

'Remind me to stop you from getting hurt again, then. Too much alone-time with you could be disastrous for her.'

'Don't worry; I'm not about to up and leave you for the _school_ _Healer_.'

Cordelia considered the point. 'It would make an interesting story—_Head Boy Heated Over Hogwarts Healer_.'

'I didn't think you'd be so supportive of it.'

The Ravenclaw's light brown hair was pulled up, so it swished around when she moved. In this case, she was chuckling. James watched her intently, then used the hand he held to pull her closer.

'Didn't I promise you something if you lost?' he asked, aware that they were both edging closer to one another.

'I think I promised the same thing if _you_ did.'

Their lips were an inch apart, and the distance closed in one fluid motion, leading James into a sitting position and his girlfriend into a leaning one, her hand still clasped in his. The Gryffindor's other hand found the curve of the other's waist, and she the nape of his neck.

They worked against one another in a habit almost learned. A moment like this had not come along for almost a month, not even at Christmastime, when both were concentrating on other things.

Cordelia's hand slid up into James's unruly hair, though her fingers did not stretch to the tender, bandaged crown. Vaguely aware that there was some kind of knock at the door of the ward, the two pulled back, releasing the hold they had on each other, with the exception of the hand at their sides.

James pulled himself back into bed as Cordelia re-filled the seat beside. Madam Pomfrey entered the ward.

'If you'd like, Potter, I can remove that bandage and let you go.'

'Is everybody still out there?'

'No,' said the old woman tiredly, waving off James's question with one hand. 'The crowd has dissipated.'

She flourished her wand and the bandage unrolled itself from where it had been wrapped around the Gryffindor's head. It shot over into Madam Pomfrey's out-stretched hand.

'You're free to leave when you would like to, Potter.'

At the sound of her retreating footsteps, James pulled himself out of bed. He was still wearing his Quidditch robes, and his leaving the bed made this fact apparent to him for the first time.

'Do you want me to come with you to the changing rooms?' Cordelia asked, noticing his attire.

'That,' said James, taking her hand once more, 'would be lovely.'

* * *

_**January 23**_

* * *

Monday was another one of _those_: tiring and boring and lazy.

* * *

_**January 24**_

* * *

Tuesday followed suit.

* * *

_**January 25**_

* * *

So did Wednesday.

* * *

_**January 26**_

* * *

Molly approached her boyfriend in the Entrance Hall. She dodged the Ancient Runes Professor, who seemed to be conversing with a trail of spiders. Perhaps he was sending them away with an incantation.

'Happy six months!' she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him.

When he did not return the gesture, she pulled away. 'What's wrong?' she asked, frowning.

Archie looked uneasy. 'Molls... I—er—I want to talk to you about something.' He cleared his throat. 'A—about us.'

The Gryffindor's hands clapped over her mouth. 'No,' she said desperately. 'You're not doing what I think you are... are you?'

Archie frowned. 'Molly...'

'No! No—you can't _dump_ me—'

'—why not?'

Molly glared at him. 'Because—because I dumped you first! There! You're _dumped_.'

'Don't be so immature.'

'Shut up, S—Saucepan Face.'

And, ignoring his shouts after her, and the multitude of people staring, Molly Weasley dashed up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

'Why won't Molly talk to anybody?'

Barbara looked around. There were no other girls from their year in the common room, so she guessed the task of notifying Molly's family had fallen to her.

She looked over at James, who was lounging by the fire, and Fred, sitting on the floor in front of his cousin. 'She and Myers broke up,' Barbara said quietly.

James fell off the couch at the same time Fred stood up, and so they crashed into each other and ended up sprawled on the floor. Both boys looked shocked.

'What the—?'

'I'll kill him! Is she all right?'

Barbara chose to address her boyfriend's question first. 'No. She's not all right.'

The eighteen-year-old of the two boys—Fred—stood up abruptly, and James clambered off the floor to follow. Both drew their wands. It was past curfew, but this rule didn't seem to occur to either of them. Barbara watched on as they stood alert, looked at one another and nodded. However, they did not run out of the common room, as the Head Girl would have expected. Instead, they dashed up the stairs to their dormitory.

Lily and Lucy, who had been playing chess over in the corner, ventured across the room to the seventh-year.

'What's wrong?' Lily asked.

Lucy looked interested. 'Has this got something to do with why my sister won't leave her room?'

'My room, by technicality,' Barbara edited. 'She's up in my room.'

Lucy waved a hand and said, 'so that's a yes?'

'Saucepan Face done something awful, then?'

Barbara nodded at Lily's assumption. 'He tried to break up with her.'

Lily's eyes widened, and Lucy asked, '"tried"?'

'She dumped him before he could even get the words out.'

Both girls left Barbara in her seat by the fire and hurried up the stairs to Molly. James and Fred scooted back into the common room; James holding the Marauder's Map and what Barbara presumed was his Invisibility Cloak, Fred's arms filled with fireworks and other semi-dangerous Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products.

They saluted Barbara, ignoring her protests, and climbed out of the portrait hole.

* * *

_**January 27**_

* * *

Archie Myers was severely bruised the next morning, and his blond eyebrows were slightly scorched. He looked so noticeably different that even the _Slytherins_ noticed.

'What's wrong with Myers?' asked Venice Higgs.

Ruby shrugged and turned to Patricia and Scorpius.

'I'll ask Al,' said the Quidditch Captain.

Breakfast appeared then, sent up by the house elves below. The table was heaped with every kind of food imaginable (and acceptable for eating in the morning). There were pancakes and waffles, any kind of egg, from scrambled to boiled; rashers of bacon piled high on top of each other, sliced tomatoes, tubs of baked beans; pyramids built out of pieces of toast, bagels propped up in groups, massive containers of all kinds of spreads; pitchers of pumpkin, apple, orange, mango, prune and pineapple juices, as well as water.

Patricia noticed the Head Boy dawdling over to where his girlfriend sat, a seat or two down from the worse-for-wear Myers. James struck up a brief conversation, dropping—Patricia noticed—a small muffin onto the tray in front of his cousin's ex-boyfriend. Myers, who was in conversation with one of his friends, took no notice of the subtle movement. James finished talking to Cordelia and returned to the Gryffindor table just as Myers picked up the small muffin the Potter boy had left.

He bit into it and promptly turned into a rat.

'Don't mess with the Potters,' Ruby muttered.

Scorpius looked at his girlfriend. 'I'm lucky to have gotten off unscathed,' he murmured, eyes wide.

* * *

_**January 28**_

* * *

Albus sat with Scorpius that day in Arithmancy. Cordelia, whose seat it had been that the Slytherin took, had little choice but to become good chums with Rose.

'You're doing well,' said the Gryffindor girl, hoping that her seatmate knew what it was she was referencing.

Cordelia smiled. 'I'm trying.'

Rose returned the gesture and pulled her red hair behind her shoulder, away from her assignment.

'So,' said the Ravenclaw, apparently teetering on the edge of saying something or keeping it to herself. 'What's this I hear about you and my Keeper?'

Rose blushed, and said nothing.

'You know, he asked me for advice on a girl, a couple of months before the two of you—you know—and I think he was asking about you.'

Rose's cheeks went redder, and they now almost matched her hair.

'Forgive me if I'm saying too much; 'cause I feel like I'm babbling... but, yeah, he really likes you.'

Rose fought the inner urge to slap herself silly. What chance did she have of becoming Head Girl when there was somebody as wonderful and nice and well-rounded, even towards the competition Rose wasn't sure she knew she had?

Cordelia Gilbert was impossibly lovely.

* * *

_**January 29**_

* * *

For a Thursday, not much happened. It was like the stretched-out, boring days of the previous week.

* * *

_**January 30**_

* * *

The 30th offered _some_ improvement, though that was only because it was a Friday, and almost the end of the month.

* * *

_**January 31**_

* * *

People were pleased to reach Saturday, and that was to say the least.


	28. Something that Varies

**Disclaimer:** J.K.R. owns my heart, and Alex Day my ears. (At least for this chapter.) Both could easily inspire 10,000 words, but this chapter is down by about eight hundred and sixty six (I couldn't force anything to happen; sorry!).

**AN:** I was determined not to add one of these for Chapter Twenty-Eight, but I just wanted to notify you all: this chapter was delayed in the posting partially because I lost internet connection and partially because I have been bed-ridden for the past three/four days, severely ill. (There was vomiting and many other disgusting symptoms of sickness. Sorry for bringing that up.)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

"**Something that Varies"**

**Or**

"**To Hogwarts, with Love".**

* * *

_**February 1**_

* * *

February began on a Wednesday. It was a nice day; as the week went. Monday was dreaded, Tuesday sat contemplative and underrated: not quite Monday and not quite Wednesday; Wednesday was the middle of the week, Thursday was the day before the end, and Friday _was_ the end.

On this particular Wednesday, nothing much occurred. Scorpius insisted upon scoping out possible girlfriends for Albus, who found the whole thing neither comfortable nor serious. Rose actually talked to Will, and was allowed to do it. Those taking History of Magic continued to loathe their decision like they loathed the first day of the week (meaning Monday), and Fred was very vocal on the subject.

But apart from that, it was really just another Wednesday.

* * *

_**February 2**_

* * *

Hogwarts had decorated itself for the month. Everything looked lilac-tinted, and the air smelled like roses. As if coming from nowhere, melodious songs filled the corridors; loud enough to be heard, but quiet enough that one had to stop and listen.

Slughorn had scheduled another small dinner for the Valentine's weekend, but nobody seemed too keen to go. Many deals were being made in common rooms: "I'll go if you go" sort of exchanges. Albus and Rose, however, were not going under any circumstances. They were having tea with Hagrid that evening, and they hadn't done so in a while, so nothing would sway them from this visit.

Plus, it gave them a very good excuse not to spend time with the Potions Master, who tended to talk too much about their parents and insist the same magical talents were hidden inside them. (Which wasn't insulting, but it got very old very quickly.)

* * *

_**February 3**_

* * *

Friday rolled in, with the announcement of the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch game that would be taking place shortly after Valentine's Day. The eighteenth of February was the closest Saturday to the date, and the match was scheduled accordingly. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had the pitch divided between them and practice was so intense that neither Slytherin nor Ravenclaw could book the pitch. This probably had something to do with the fact that James was Head Boy, and therefore he oversaw all of the schedules regarding Quidditch; thankfully, he was lenient enough to at least _let_ Hufflepuff use the pitch, rather than having Barbara force him into it. Perhaps he was over-confident.

Hugo was sitting in the stands, watching Gryffindor practice. Though he had no company, he was by no means the only person watching the team up in the air. There were people scattered all around. Thankfully, no one tried to speak to him.

In his mind, Hugo had always imagined being fifteen to be quite different to fourteen, but really, it was not the case. Seven days had passed since his birthday. He had received quite good gifts, ranging from chocolate cauldrons to cases of Keeper supplies, even though he did not yet play for the Gryffindor team. Hopefully, once Wood left, he would have a shot. But ultimately, he was still quite bored with being fifteen. Nothing had changed: Alana still looked smug whenever she saw him, and Lily still looked murderous when she noticed Alana looking smug, and Hugo was still annoyed that he had let himself get so upset over something so miniscule. Yes, the one with Alana had been his first kiss, but it wasn't as though it would be his last. _Those_ were the kisses you were meant to make a big deal out of.

Perhaps this was one of the realizations that came with turning fifteen. No longer being miserable was one drastic improvement, in a sea of unnoticeable ones.

Somebody came over to sit a couple of rows behind him, but they didn't try to interact. When Hugo cast a cautionary look around, it turned out to be Gabbie Sterling, the Ravenclaw Seeker. Two pale blonde plaits trailed over her shoulders from under a light blue beanie, which matched the colour of her jumper. For about three minutes, they didn't speak. Then, Gabbie made the effort to.

'I bet you'd love to be up there with them,' she said, pointing to his cousins flying around above.

'What makes you say that?'

Gabbie shrugged. 'Just the way you watch them.'

'I would have thought James wouldn't let you in to watch,' Hugo noted.

'I don't think he minds too much. We've already played Gryffindor—and we lost, remember? So we're really not much competition in any sense.'

'You could be a spy for Hufflepuff,' he joked, inviting her by way of hand gesture to come down and sit beside him.

'I don't think Hufflepuff would think to use spies,' Gabbie remarked. She hopped delicately between rows until she reached Hugo and sat down.

'Strategy doesn't really seem like their thing, does it?'

She laughed. 'No. It doesn't.'

They sat together in silence for a moment, just watching Lily and Albus muck around with the Quaffle. For the first time in his life, Hugo didn't feel the need to instigate conversation, because for once, the silence wasn't one of discomfort. Roxanne said something to Wood which made him laugh, and then James darted over to resume the plays they had started out to perfect. Hugo didn't see much point in this: the team as a whole were so practiced, so learned in working together, that it didn't really matter.

It was Gabbie who spoke again, and her tone was somewhat tentative.

'I heard about what happened with Alana Harris.'

Hugo reassured her that she hadn't crossed a line of any sort, and then replied: 'Yeah, well, that was a mental decision on my part.'

'Was she your first girlfriend?'

Hugo nodded bitterly.

'Must suck being a Weasley when this sort of thing happens,' Gabbie supposed. 'Given your family, I'd bet it's hard to know if anybody cares about you, or just your name.'

'You've got that pretty well, actually.'

Gabbie smiled. 'I was a bit scared about offending you, to be honest.'

'Nah,' said Hugo. 'You're all right.'

James called his other players over to him in the centre of the pitch. It was slowly beginning to rain, and Gabbie put a hand up to greet the sprinkles of water. She looked over at Hugo.

'Are you going to be alone—you know, in Hogsmeade tomorrow?'

He shrugged. 'I've got a few people who I can spend the day with.'

'That's good,' Gabbie told him. 'Because the last thing Harris deserves is knowing you're not having fun.'

The rain was now falling freely, and James had sent his team back to the changing rooms. It was almost dinnertime. Gabbie and Hugo stood.

'Where are _your_ mates, then?' he asked, looking around at the groups leaving the stands.

The Ravenclaw scrunched up her nose. 'They're trying to finish Potions assignments to look good and get into Slughorn's dinner party.' She put her hands in her pockets and the two of them began the slow walk out of the stands. 'I don't personally see the big deal. His gatherings are all a bit boring, don't you think?'

'They're a bit tedious. The Christmas one was _frightful_.'

Gabbie laughed. 'So you thought so, too? Thank Merlin I wasn't the only one!'

They reached the exit of the stands. Gabbie stepped under the cover of the tunnel, and Hugo followed, but it was only a little while under dry cover before the short trail from the Quidditch Pitch to the castle. Some other girls in Ravenclaw scarves hurried out onto the road and waved enthusiastically to Gabbie. She looked at Hugo.

'Thanks for the good conversation,' he said, grinning.

'No problem, _Hugo_.'

She sped up to meet her friends and Hugo couldn't help but notice the difference between Gabbie Sterling and Alana Harris.

* * *

_**February 4**_

* * *

James had been quite looking forward to the Hogsmeade visit, though now that he had seen the various reporters lined up with their notebooks, quills and half-hidden cameras in different places around the crowded pub, he was somewhat disheartened.

He was supposed to be on a date with Cordelia—the first proper one since before Christmastime—but both of them were now on watch, alert to the reporters, who were now sitting with cameras positioned in places that they obviously thought were out of the way. Three of them were jotting down notes on their memo pads.

'I'm sorry,' said James, watching his girlfriend blush as a reporter leaned forward to try and catch their conversation. 'This probably isn't your idea of a proper decent date.'

Cordelia shook her head. 'It's okay; I mean, it comes with the territory. It's not like you can help it.'

'Still,' James told her, 'I can't exactly _do anything_ without it ending up on the front page of _Witch Weekly_.'

She seemed to understand that "do anything" translated to "kiss you", and she frowned. 'Bit of a pity, that.'

James chuckled.

Cordelia pulled a stray lock of hair back behind her ear and took a tentative sip of butterbeer. Her eyes; so like Albus's, only brown in colouring and heavier in eyelashes; trailed around the room, observing the scene. There _were_ various reporters and photographers, including somebody who had decided that Jess Thomas was a very interesting person to interview on the "Cordelia and James" front.

She was trained to think before acting, and was very good at such a thing.

He, however, was more impulsive.

'To hell with the cameras,' James decided, flinging his girlfriend a crooked grin.

He scooted around the curve of the booth to sit right beside her, and then pressed his lips against hers. Cordelia Gilbert's kiss was similar to she: hesitant, gentle at first, then increasing in confidence. She wasn't one for public kisses, but it didn't seem to bother her now.

Hearing the magically-quietened click of camera shutters, the couple edged apart. James stayed in his place beside the Ravenclaw, grinning slightly, just to himself.

The bell above the door of The Three Broomsticks jingled, and a few familiar faces appeared. Fred and Barbara were amongst them, but the two did not seek to join James and his girlfriend. Instead, they slid into a booth vacated recently by a gaggle of third-years.

Cordelia took the last remaining sip of her butterbeer and noticed where James's attention was focused. 'I've never seen two people happier together,' she commented.

The Head Boy turned to her, his eyebrows arched. 'What about us?'

'I've never seen the two of us together,' she told him. 'Except for in fuzzy photographs taken by reporters like those over in corner.'

'What about at Teddy and Victoire's wedding? There's a picture of us there.'

Cordelia looked surprised. 'There is? I never got to see it—we l-left a bit quick for that.' Her face fell as her tone did, and James took her hand.

'Do you want to get out of here?' he suggested.

She nodded hastily, and the two of them slid out of the booth. James glanced over at where a couple of reporters were perched, and the duo looked away immediately, apparently unhappy that they had been caught.

_Well it's not as though you made it very difficult, was it?_

The Head Boy followed his girlfriend out of The Three Broomsticks, hoping that the rest of their afternoon would be free of reporters. Thankfully, it was.

* * *

'Great,' Fred muttered bitterly, watching James and Cordelia step out the door. 'Now all their attention will be on us.'

"They" referred to the _Witch Weekly_ and _Daily Prophet_ correspondents stationed in different places around the room. Barbara's dark hair swished as she followed Fred's gaze, her head moving as she did so.

'They're losing their touch,' she said. Her tone was somewhat disdainful. 'I mean, it's not as though those two are the only "celebrities" alive at the moment.' She noticed Fred's expression and swatted at him with her arm. 'I don't mean _us_ if that's what you think! There's Quidditch players and—that cosmetics witch! What's her name? Carlotta Somebody, and she makes all those herbal remedies—not to mention that Warbeck boy.'

The Head Girl was silent a moment before adding, 'just because his Great Aunt was a singer; doesn't mean he's inherited the skill! I tell you—did you hear that song? What's it called?'

Fred knew little on the subject, but supplied, 'Fire Freed Me?'

'Yes!' Barbara cried, pointing to declare him correct. 'Fire Freed Me! It's ridiculous—he sounds like he's singing from the point of view of a _phoenix_!'

Fred considered it, swigging his mug of sour ale, and admitted, 'that _would_ be quite an interesting vantage point... you know, as artistic motifs go.'

Barbara nodded begrudgingly. 'I still prefer the Hazel Gobstones.'

Rolling his dark eyes: 'of _course_ you do.'

'What? They're _good_.'

'They're too... poppy.'

The Head Girl scrunched up her nose and said, somewhat disdainfully, 'I suppose you're more interested in Fever Dungeon.'

Fred nodded. 'Or Talentallegra.'

'Their name was inventive, at least.'

'It's actually quite an accurate description,' Fred thought aloud. 'Some of their faster songs really _do_ make you want to dance uncontrollably.'

'_Anything's_ better than Wonder Witches,' Barbara declared, chuckling slightly.

Wonder Witches were a group of five witches (in case this fact wasn't made redundant by the name), all with long curly hair and short sparkly robes. They were all tiny, though reasonably voluptuous in body shape. Every single one of their songs was about being enamoured with another person, who didn't pay them the slightest attention. Nobody thought these songs were particularly true-to-life, because two of the five Wonder Witches had longstanding relationships with their equally stereotypical boyfriends, and a third was constantly on-and-off with some Quidditch player.

Indeed, it was the Wonder Witches who appeared quite often in _Witch Weekly_ magazine; they were the cover story if a Weasley was not.

'Hey!' Fred reprimanded. 'Give them some credit; all that fast dancing in those tiny outfits—'

'—with blokes just about _melting_ at the slightest whiff of them? Oh, must be a _terrible_ life—'

'—you don't know them—'

'—what? And _you_ do?'

'As a matter of fact,' said Fred loudly, 'yes. I met Gannydrea Lockhart at a party last year. She was very... nice.'

Barbara folded her arms and looked suspiciously at her boyfriend. 'Is there something I should know about?'

* * *

Rose Weasley's dark red hair was fluffy and covered over with a thin layer of snow. Her nose was bright pink and her smile, wide.

Breathlessly: 'hi.'

With a small wave in response, her Ravenclaw companion echoed, 'hi.'

Rose pointed over to the door to The Three Broomsticks. Her eyebrows rose up in a silent question. _Are we going in there?_

Will shook his head. 'Nah. I saw a bunch of _Prophet_ folk going in earlier, and I don't really fancy the whole of Britain knowing how our date went by seven o'clock this evening; do you?'

His company sided with "don't really fancy", and the two of them decided to go up to the Hog's Head instead, where the crowd was much more varied in terms of people. There would definitely be Hogwarts students, but probably a lot of non-teenage guests as well; this allowed Will and Rose more privacy than The Three Broomsticks would have. (Besides, Lottie was in there with another Ravenclaw bloke she'd taken a liking to.)

'So,' the Gryffindor began pointedly, sticking her hands in her pockets. 'Some weather, huh?'

Will looked at her obliquely. 'Isn't it usually the bloke's job to act awkward and talk about such mundane niceties as the weather?'

She shrugged. 'You've been doing this longer than I have.'

'You make me feel old.'

'You're a year older than _me_,' Rose reasoned.

Raising his eyebrows, Will admitted, 'not quite. I mean, I don't turn eighteen until April.'

'My birthday's the end of this month.'

'Exactly.'

He held the door to the Hog's Head open for Rose and then followed her inside. There were about twenty other people in the pub, all divided into their own little groups. In the corner, there sat a couple of anxious-looking third-years, teetering in their seats and communicating in covert whispers. It was obviously their first time in the Hog's Head.

'So we'll both be seventeen for at least a month,' Will finished.

Rose looked at him slyly. 'You're placing an awful lot of weight on this fact.'

'Yes, but I haven't read too much into it, like you're about to.'

Laughing: 'touché.'

* * *

_**February 5**_

* * *

'Bridget Davies?'

'No.'

'Ruby Zabini?'

'No.'

'Emma Dearborn?'

'We're related.'

'How distant?'

'Great Grandma was a Dearborn.'

'Okay, then. Cross Emma off the list.'

Beat.

'What about Melissa Jordan?'

'_No._'

'Oh, come on, Al! You've can't be single forever!'

The Gryffindor turned to face his pale blond friend. They were on their way to the Room of Requirement, which had been somewhat of a place for social activity within the school that only their select group of friends knew about.

Scorpius continued to throw out random names of girls in their year or the one below, presumably to get Albus's instant reactions on all of them; this consisted of one vocabulary word: "no".

When they arrived at the Room of Requirement, both thought "_We need a place to spend time with friends_".

(In his mind, the Slytherin had added: "_and probably drink some form of alcohol, should it come to it, but that's not your job, Rory; that's ours._")

"Rory" had become their name for the Room of Requirement, and was especially useful when speaking around other students.

'Are you going to hang out with Rory later?' somebody would ask.

Another of the group would reply, 'yeah, about an hour before dinner; yourself?'

And whenever an outsider asked them who Rory was, a snobbish air would waft in and the person in-the-know would simply say, 'oh, he's just a friend. You don't know him.'

The door to "Rory" opened, and thankfully, it was to the room where Louis, Patricia, Ruby and Andy were already lounging.

'About time, boyfriend,' addressed Patricia.

Scorpius shrugged, and as he made his way over to his girlfriend, he explained the reason for their lateness in thirteen words (none of which involved he and Albus in a heated situation behind the closed door of a broom closet; an improvement), 'it's not my fault Al can't pick a girl he wants to date!'

Louis smirked, while Patricia rolled her eyes and Andy's inspected the floor. A fire crackled in the corner of the room, bathing the space in bright orange light that hurt the eyes.

'Why so disinterested?' Ruby asked Andy, her narrow eyes raking over the Hufflepuff with something of a knowing glance.

After a pause: 'I just don't think the fact Al can't get a girlfriend should rule all our lives.'

'Ouch,' said Albus, holding a hand over his heart like the words had stabbed him. 'That hurt, Andy.'

She poked her tongue out. 'You know I didn't mean it like that.'

* * *

_**February 6 & 7**_

* * *

'_Ooh_!' cried a Hufflepuff girl. 'Did you see it?'

Her small friend nodded, shivering. 'It was so icky!'

Fred, who was not entirely sure _what_ the two of them were talking about, leaned in and asked, 'is this the same thing that's got people crowding around Hagrid's Hut?'

Both girls blushed. 'Y-yes,' said the girl who had apparently seen whatever it was. 'It's—it's a giant Acromantula. Dead.'

Fred raised his eyebrows, and then turned to Wood, who had been accompanying him to Hagrid's Hut to see what the fuss was about. Chris looked just as surprised.

'Blimey,' Fred emphasized. 'I'd _heard_ there were Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest, but I didn't _believe_ it.'

The two Hufflepuff girls, taking Fred's withdrawn attention as their cue to leave, hurried off. Both had red faces and were whispering excitedly.

Wood furrowed his eyebrows. 'Should we go? You know—to check it out?'

'If it hasn't been moved by now... who in their right mind would leave a great whopping spider corpse lying around? Especially where first-years could get to it!'

They hurried out of the Entrance Hall and down the path to where a collective crowd was thronging around the mass. Three boys darted past the seventh-years, eager to get away from what they had set eyes on. Spotting Molly, Fred and Wood shuttled in beside her.

It was, indeed, the corpse of an Acromantula. A massive spider, its spindly legs curled in toward its body. Chris winced.

Hagrid approached them, white in the face (well, what little of his face Fred could see through his bushy, black facial hair). 'That's the firs' Acromantula I've seen down this way since over twen'y years ago.' The giant man checked his wristwatch. 'It's gettin' on ter one o'clock. Yeh better be clearin' off fer yer afternoon lessons now.'

Eager to turn away from the hideous corpse, Molly, Fred and Wood bade Hagrid farewell and headed back along the path to the castle.

* * *

'What did you hear about that _thing_ down at Hagrid's Hut?'

Ruby, who was sitting across the room brushing her hair, shrugged. 'Just that it was an Acromantula.' She paused, in both speaking and in the process of grooming herself. 'It was, wasn't it?'

Kathryn nodded, looking thoughtful. 'I saw it before Care of Magical Creatures—it was _awful_. Absolutely disgusting. What _are_ they doing on Hogwarts grounds?'

'I heard there was a whole colony in the Forbidden Forest,' Venice put in. She had, up until this point, been reading _Past, Present & Beyond: A Beginning Seer's Guide to Divination_, and it was the first time in three months or more that any of the girls had heard her speak a word _not_ relating to Shelley or McCormick or the two of them together.

'Really?' asked Kathryn. Her face held distaste. 'That's no way to run a school—what if one had attacked a student?'

'Apparently it has, once or twice,' said Venice. 'But nothing _awful_ happened.'

'That was a very contradictory statement.'

'Shut up, Zabini.'

'_You_ shut up, Higgs.'

* * *

_**February 8**_

* * *

A lot can happen in a year. You can look back and think of how you were a completely different person. You can form new relationships, or get out of old ones. You can write a book, you can put together an album; you can cook over 365 new recipes.

By February 8, 2024—which was exactly one year away from the present—many things would have occurred.

James Potter would have made a bad decision, Fred Weasley would have made a _good_ one; Albus Potter wouldn't have made the _right_ one, and Hugo Weasley would be glad he made the one he did.

Scorpius Malfoy would have asked a good question, Louis Weasley would have left one unanswered; Cordelia Gilbert would have raised two or three, Patricia Day would have replied to a very important phrase, and Barbara Tennant would have said one word to shape the rest of her life.

A lot of other things would happen, too. (Some very much more significant.)

But—and I do hope you'll forgive me for this many-a-time uttered sentence—we'll get to that much later.

* * *

_**February 9**_

* * *

Elena Finnigan had never been good at making decisions. They usually involved things blowing up in her face (which happened a lot; both figuratively and physically), and were just messy over-all. She wasn't particularly skilled in the realm of subtlety either, and so there was very little to be done about her current predicament that wasn't simply "keep quiet and not tell anyone". Because this secret wasn't exactly the one she could tell her dorm-mates about, especially not given their relatives, and Elena was finding being cooped up in such a dormitory quite difficult at the moment. Perhaps she could start sleeping over with Barbara.

'You excited for the Spain trip, then?' Quentin Embry asked her at breakfast-time.

She exhaled. 'Let me use the next four months to build up some enthusiasm.'

It wasn't that Quentin Embry was a bad lad—Muggleborns usually weren't, for some reason—but all Elena could focus on in that moment was the dilemma _she _was facing, and nobody else mattered.

Later that day, in Potions, she was partnered with a speckled bloke named Gerald Dickinson. He wasn't _completely_ unfortunate: tall with wiry hair and a yellow-and-black tie; Elena might have tried to strike up conversation if she wasn't having trouble focusing. About forty-four minutes into the lesson, once their brewed Amortentia was on the boil, Gerald Dickinson found reason to speak.

'_I_ wanted to be partnered with Molly Weasley,' he told Elena.

'Well, I'm sorry to disappoint.'

Dickinson looked over at her. 'I didn't mean to be rude, I just thought it was better you knew. She's really smart... _and _ fit—'

'—_and_-recently-single-so-I'm-gathering-you-think-you'd-either-be-able-to-slip-her-some-Amortentia-or-perhaps-even-get-her-to-bed-you-without-it?'

Stirring their potion to check its progress, Dickinson replied, 'are you always this insightful, or do you genuinely think I could get in with her?'

Elena contemplated shoving his wiry head into the bubbling cauldron in front. She would undoubtedly fail for the lesson, so she refrained, instead telling him: 'you sound like a sick pervert. If you think you stand a chance with somebody like Molly Weasley, then you'll need to clean up your act. Oh,' she added as an afterthought, 'and you should probably brush your hair, too.'

'Why do you hate me?'

'Why did you just ask me if I thought you'd have an easy time bedding one of my best mates?'

Dickinson bit his lip. 'I probably should have worked up to that.'

'No,' Elena corrected, 'you never should've brought it up at all. Case closed. End of story. Punch-line reached.'

'Punch-line reached? Really—reaching the punch-line?'

'I'll reach _your_ punch-line, Gerald Dickinson; no problem!'

* * *

_**February 10**_

* * *

_**POTTER BOY PUBLIC WITH PASSION**_

**by Noelle Turpin**

_If you had asked around in the streets of London twelve months ago about James Sirius Potter, you wouldn't have heard anything about a girlfriend. However, now that vivacious Ravenclaw Cordelia Gilbert has caught his eye, there's no sign of stopping. The two have been dating steadily since late September, and have always been relatively quiet about their relationship._

_ The two of them were seen last week in The Three Broomsticks, a popular Hogsmeade pub (presumably on a trip from their schooling at Hogwarts), and things were definitely heating up!_

_ Readers, I'll have you know that I witnessed this with my own eyes, and I tell you, it's the real deal. The two began the outing calmly; remaining on their opposite sides of the compartment, as you see in the pictures above. (Doesn't Cordelia have wonderful fashion sense? Oh, she's the sweetest!)_

_ But after about fifteen minutes or so, talking about the strain James is put under, what with being a public figure, all pretence was abandoned. The seventeen-year-old Potter could stand it no longer—he scooted around to his girlfriend and the two shared a passionate kiss._

_ The only problem I can see the two of them facing in the future would be the fact that James is leaving Hogwarts at the end of this year and—really—when you're who he is, who wants to keep a relationship going with a girl back at school? It's sad, of course, but a realistic truth._

_ One of our sources (a close classmate of Potter's) commented on this: "I don't know, but [er...] the two of them will make it through and decide things for the better. [I mean] it's their relationship. Who are we to judge?"_

_ The world's on their side! Let's hope for the best, yes? Send in your responses to the address on page thirteen!_

* * *

_**February 11 & 12**_

* * *

That weekend was not one for a trip to Hogsmeade, nor one for a Quidditch match. Many people continued to talk about the Acromantula carcass, even though it had long been removed from the grounds, and how it could have possibly got there in the first place. ("How _dare_ they let things like that near a _school_?" complained one Slytherin third-year as she exited the library.)

The students in relationships were preparing for Valentine's Day; those not were looking on with loathing. Horace Slughorn was constantly reminding the people involved that he was holding a Valentine's weekend _do_, and that they were all certainly invited. He seemed extremely disappointed that Rose and Albus couldn't make the trip ("it _is_ a pity about the two of you having to go down to Hagrid's...") but, by his bad luck—and by their _good_—nothing could be done on the matter.

* * *

_**February 13**_

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_ Things have been going really well at home—your father and I have been having to jinx every other reporter ("What do you think of your son's relationship with that Ravenclaw bird?"-blah-blah-blah)—but apart from that, everything's quite nice. _

_ I got a letter from Neville a while ago telling me that you'd used the Bat-Bogey Hex on that horrible girl who was awful to Hugo. Don't tell anybody I said this, but good job! She deserves it 100%, and Uncle Ron wants to tell you you're his favourite niece (even if Aunt Hermione wishes you hadn't gotten yourself in trouble). Classic._

_ Make sure to keep me posted on how everything is._

_ (Oh and I know that Professor Slughorn's dinner parties are a drag, but just struggle through them, all right? You never know who you'll meet.)_

_Lots of love,_

_Mum_

* * *

_**February 14**_

* * *

'What the hell is _this_? Who's _sodding_ boyfriend is at fault?'

It did not have to be said that Cordelia Gilbert's Valentine's Day did not start out smoothly. (Unless, of course, the definition of "smoothly" in the dictionary is synonymous with "lots of shouting from Bridget Davies, accompanied by a dormitory covered in red rose petals and smelling of sour sweets, liquorice and _Honeyduke's Finest_".)

The Quidditch Captain looked around the room evidently as curious as the other girls. They sat up in bed for a few silent, curious moments before Shelley Corner stumbled into the room, her hair rumpled and her lipstick slightly stained. At the sight of the roses and various sweets around the room, she smiled slightly.

A declaration: 'Dylan is _so_ adorable.'

It was as though she had no qualms that it was he who had sent the gifts. Tabitha Perkins climbed out of bed and said, 'I don't know, Shelley; perhaps it's from that Smith boy—he's been smitten with Bridget for months, hasn't he?'

Miss Corner and Miss Davies both blushed. Sarah Boot, pushing her duvet back and looking around the room, decided: 'let's look for a card, eh? Before we go slinging around uncertainties.'

Cordelia hastened out of her four-poster to help in the search. It was not a moment before she located, on the top of an old stack of letters, a new card addressed in the half-developed scrawling of a teenage boy. The note was addressed to her.

Shelley sighed at this news.

'Well, what does it say?' Bridget pressed.

'If the details aren't too graphic,' Sarah mended in a hurry.

Cordelia threw her a look before reading aloud, '"_Hey, Poppins. It's been a while since I've called you that, isn't it? Oh well, no matter. Anyway, Happy Valentine's Day. I hope you like the sweets. I'll see you in a bit. And if it doesn't seem to corny or over-done: Love, James._"' She paused, glancing up at her roommates. '"_P.S. I did a bit of counting and we've been together six and a half months (roughly). Don't know why I felt the need to tell you that; I just thought it was cool._"'

Tabitha was smiling to herself when the Prefect looked up. In her hand, she held a little package of sweets, like so many others around the room. She eyed them tentatively and Cordelia nodded: _go ahead; it's alright_.

* * *

'I think Cordelia liked James's surprise.'

The Entrance Hall was quite crowded, but even across it, Fred and Barbara could see the two Quidditch Captains embracing one another in front of the entrance to the Great Hall. The Head Girl looked over at her boyfriend.

'I still like my gift just as much,' she said.

She had awoken that morning to, not only a new Hazel Gobstones album, but a house-elf dressed up in pink with a poem to recite—

_Though not much for romance or crisis,_

_Fred Weasley knows what "being nice" is:_

_So on Valentine's Day,_

_He's sent Trinket to say_

_That he wants to give Barbara a big kiss!_

—then Trinket the house-elf stepped aside and revealed her boyfriend, who had been hiding under James-and-Al's Invisibility Cloak until that point, and the elf vanished with a _pop!_, allowing the two eighteen-year-olds to pull each other in and... well, needless to say... do as the song explained, really.

But Barbara certainly thought the grand gesture rated equally to filling a room with rose petals and sweets. It was certainly much more personal.

Accompanying Fred into the Great Hall, the Head Girl crossed the massive area and took a seat towards the front end of Gryffindor table. Rose was a little way down, trying to keep a delicate silver-crystal bracelet out of her friends' grasp, and Hugo was casting glances around the room: over Ravenclaw table and then back to his own, but not contributing greatly to any frivolity. No relatives tried to distract Fred or Barbara from one another.

Professor Sprout stood up and gave a warm speech about Valentine's Day, though many people weren't paying attention. Professor Dryden, Barbara noticed, was sitting with a pile of pink-purple-and-red pieces of parchment on the table beside him; many of the older students—girls, _mostly_—were throwing covert glances at the valentines and giggling. Professor Longbottom nudged Dryden, smirking, but the young Scottish wizard rolled his eyes and swatted him away with a free hand.

'Reckon that bloke's getting more valentines than Al is,' Fred snickered, tilting his head first towards the teachers' table and then to a spot further down their own, where multi-coloured pieces of parchment were flying over to rest beside an absolutely red-faced Al.

'I give Dryden until lunch before _he_ takes over,' Barbara challenged.

'One Sickle?'

The Head Girl raised her eyebrows. 'I don't _bet_.'

'Five kisses?'

'That's much easier.'

(Barbara won the "bet", though I suppose winning didn't really matter much, in the end.)

* * *

A song named _Wander _was playing in the Room of Requirement during Patricia and Scorpius's afternoon free. They were alone, and the Room was controlled in such a way that the two Slytherins knew they would continue to be, unless either of them decided not to be. Hoards of angry students could have been jinxing the hall outside, screeching for the Room to open, and it would not.

In case the point hasn't been made clear to you yet: Patricia and Scorpius were alone.

And they would be, for as long as they liked.

'You're absolutely beautiful.'

Patricia turned, cutting off the song just as "_I never thought you'd hear me in my..._" began. She looked slowly at her boyfriend, as though she was somewhat surprised about what he had just said. As far as Scorpius knew, she had never been told such a thing before. Not by any other boys. She could have been told for years, by him, with the same sincerity, but instead, both had remained quiet about their feelings.

The way her eyes looked at him now: a brown which he had never before thought, as a colour, could be so telling. Somehow, this brown was wonderful; the most beautiful shade of any he had ever seen. Scorpius could see nothing but surprise, and he loved her for it. He loved her modesty and he loved her slight smile as she realized he was telling the truth and he loved her long hair and he loved how she flicked it back over her shoulder and he also loved her for not understanding that she was completely _magnificent_. He loved her for every moment of the year and he loved her for the blank hours between evening and dawn and he loved _her_.

And he was usually better at keeping it from rushing up on him like this.

'You are,' Scorpius continued. 'I know I don't tell you enough.' He paused. 'I _also_ don't tell you that I love you, which is quite a big mistake. Because you might end up with somebody who tells you twice as often and means it half as much and that would be quite unfortunate.'

Patricia smiled again. Then she sighed quietly. She stood up to pace over to him, snaking her hands around his abdomen and looking up into his grey-green eyes.

'You're just saying this because it's Valentine's Day,' she tried.

Scorpius tilted his head. 'Perhaps. But isn't it nice to hear, regardless? _I love you_.'

Patricia closed her eyes and leaned closer into his chest. 'I love you, too.'

'How much do you love me?'

'More than _you_ love _me_.'

Scorpius chuckled. He looked down at her fondly. 'Unlikely.'

'No,' said Patricia lightly. 'Bloody terrifying; that's what it is.'

'Why do you think you love me more than I love you?'

She opened her eyes, and pulled back so that he could see into them. 'Because this sort of thing doesn't just _happen_. Two people aren't just best mates forever and then suddenly fall in love. It doesn't work that way. Life's never that fair.'

Scorpius raised an eyebrow. 'Why not?'

'It just _isn't_,' Patricia told him; in that kind of defeated, honest tone that only girls can utter.

'May I just remind you that the two of us _did_ promise that we would get married by twenty-five as a "practical choice"?'

'It's not my fault your family has mountains of gold.'

Scorpius laughed. 'I fancied you then,' he admitted.

Patricia nodded. 'Me too.'

'You should've tried for twenty,' he breathed.

She raised her eyebrows. 'Would you have?'

'Of course.'

They looked at one another a moment: gentle, enjoying the moment. Patricia leaned up on her tip-toes, and Scorpius leaned downward; down to the girl around whom his arms were already placed.

They kissed and it felt like forever.

* * *

_**February 15**_

* * *

Neville Longbottom quite enjoyed being a teacher.

He liked knowing that he was making life easier for somebody who was, in their own way, very similar to him. He had been just as clueless, just as practically _inept_ as any of his first-years, at one point or another. Then again, they were probably less dismal at Potions, but none of them had had to endure time under Severus Snape's teaching.

Neville Longbottom enjoyed the comings and goings of the students. He enjoyed watching them grow, develop, become the adults he had been waiting for them to.

James had fulfilled all these categories, to the greatest extent. He was Head Boy, for crying out loud—like his grandfather had been; like _Harry_ probably would have been, thought Neville, if he had concerned himself with returning to school. But there wasn't much thought to be placed on what _might_ have been. (Though top of the class, James wasn't necessarily _academic_.)

Albus was difficult to fault. He looked so much like his father that Neville almost addressed him by "Harry" at times. And Lily—Lily looked so similar to Ginny that it was almost as though the two Potters were their parents incarnate. (If they had to be, James would have been his namesake, for he looked like Harry but with darker eyes.)

Neville Longbottom had not thought in depth about coming of age, or love, or magic, or _marriage_, for a very long time. But perhaps that time was creeping up on him again; not in his own case, but in that of his students. Though he rather hoped none were eloping too soon.

But coming of age and love and magic... those were all easier topics to stomach.

* * *

_**February 16**_

* * *

Shelley Corner didn't love her boyfriend.

(She prided herself on the fact that she was not a fool enough for "love".)

Shelley Corner didn't _need_ James Potter.

(She thought it would have been nice to have him, though.)

Shelley Corner didn't know much about things that weren't _lust_ or blokes.

(She _was_ a bit worried that she was starting to care about McCormick...)

* * *

_**February 17**_

* * *

'We've got our game against Hufflepuff tomorrow.'

Barbara Tennant looked pretty under orange torchlight.

She and Fred were sitting together in the Heads' Office; the former lying on the floor using her boyfriend's Weasley jumper as a pillow, and the latter sitting a little way off looking over Quidditch plays on a piece of moving parchment.

'I just hope nobody takes a Bludger to the head this time,' Barbara replied, looking up at him from her place on the floor.

'Don't you fancy seeing me in a bed?' teased Fred.

The Head Girl chuckled. 'Not _injured_.'

With a sigh: 'I guess that whole thing depends—has Hufflepuff hired Connery for the match?'

Though his tone was one of jest, Barbara didn't smile.

'He felt _awful_! Cordelia said—Poor lad!' she told Fred, swatting at him from a far distance. He caught onto her hand and held it, slowly pulling her up by the arm until they were sitting almost side by side.

The Beater grinned at his girlfriend. Slowly, she returned the gesture. He pulled her in for a myriad of kisses, and she smiled into them all, because the debt Fred owed for losing the "bet" of Valentine's Day was most definitely repaid, and despite this, Barbara was not about to stop him.

Yes, they had a Quidditch game in the morning. But the Quidditch game wasn't until _morning_.

* * *

_**February 18**_

* * *

Albus woke up at four in the morning, which was a good hour or two before he had to—or possibly would have liked to—but due to the fact that if he went back to sleep, he probably wouldn't get up again for at _least_ eleven hours, and also that Kane McLaggen snored loud enough to wake a _bear_ from hibernation, the sixth-year decided it was probably best to roll with the punches (well, hopefully not _punches_) and to go with what had already happened.

He took a bit longer in the shower than was probably necessary, but since nobody else seemed to be awake when he exited the bathroom in his Quidditch robes. Albus tried twice to alert Louis before departing the dormitory for either Gryffindor common room or—if time was better—the Great Hall.

Lily and Roxanne were already downstairs, dressed in similar robes to Albus. The two of them seemed to be on the topic of who was a better Keeper out of the four at Hogwarts: both were partial to Chris Wood, of course, but Lily supposed Will Bowen was a close second.

Nobody needed reminding that it was Gryffindor's final game of the season. They had played Ravenclaw and Slytherin, and now there was only this game, and the one between the Blues and the Greens at the end of May to decide everything. James had worked everything out: they were already 110 points above their closest competition—Ravenclaw—and if Gryffindor beat Hufflepuff today (which wasn't a big "If", really) by more than 200 points, it would be difficult to counter in the last Ravenclaw-Slytherin game, especially with the two sides facing the opposition they were.

Granted, the whole thing had sounded a lot more evidential, planned and proper when James announced it to the common room last night.

'Bright and early, aren't you?' Albus's sister noticed.

'I could say the same to you.'

Roxanne notified him: 'James went jogging twenty minutes ago, and as far as we know, Chris is still asleep.'

Having been told about the rest of the team, Albus asked what was happening with Fred and Barbara. Were they awake? The clock said five thirty, which was much earlier than the sixth-year would have liked. He did not notice Lily and Roxanne exchanging looks.

'The two of them—er,' began Roxanne, chewing her bottom lip anxiously. 'Well...'

There was a pause.

'"Well"?' Albus pressed.

Lily looked as though she were trying not to smile. 'They—er—they h-haven't... they haven't _been in_.'

The sixth-year's green eyes widened. He let out a breathy laugh. 'Not _all_ _night_?'

Roxanne and Lily shook their heads. 'The two of us would have heard her coming up to the Head dormitory. No such interruption.' Roxanne paused. 'You would've heard Fred; he's just upstairs from you and with the bloody ruckus _he's_ always making, you'd hear him from the capital of bleeding Botswana, wouldn't you?'

Still chuckling, Albus considered the point and nodded when he found Roxanne correct.

_"Bleeding Botswana."_

* * *

There was a new voice in the stands today: it was neither Scamander twin, nor Melissa Jordan, but instead somebody unexpected: Jenna, the younger sister of a _very_ well-known sixth-year Hufflepuff. (The two sisters so closely resembled each other that, from afar, Albus thought it _was _Andy.)

'Hello, _Hogwarts_!' called the fifth-year. 'It's a lovely day down at the Quidditch pitch—good winds, yes, running west with a bit of sou'-easterly—the two teams are about to enter the field! You know 'em, _you_ love 'em—well, perhaps a few grouchy Slytherins don't, but let's be generalists for a bit, eh?—_here's Hufflepuff_!'

The first player shot out of the tunnel off the pitch, and when their names were called, the others followed suit: 'Clarke! Cadwallader! Macmillan! Smith! Finch-Fletchley! Eckert!'

Jenna paused for dramatic effect. '_...and Burns!_'

Once everybody had finished cheering for Hufflepuff—or, rather, once _Hufflepuff_ (and half of Ravenclaw, most of whom felt bad) had finished cheering for Hufflepuff—the Gryffindor team was called.

'Tennant! Potter... Potter... Potter...! Weasley, Weasley... and _Wood_!'

* * *

Five minutes had passed. Lily had scored a goal for Gryffindor, and after a foul from Hufflepuff Eckert (who was playing on a Quidditch team for the first time this year and really was quite awestruck at the concept of the Lily Potter approaching him under any circumstance; he had simply stopped in mid-air and cut her off), she was now shouting a penalty.

'Potter goes left, but it's a fake! Burns bites it! _Thirty_-nil to Gryffindor; good job, lions.'

Of course, knowing Jenna, her mouth ran off and her tangents grew long: rants on how Miles Clarke was only _half_ nice, the fact everybody thought James Potter was cripplingly attractive, and her thoughts in relation to Albus and how he should probably find a girlfriend out of his _close_, _personal_ friends soon, otherwise he would lose the opportunity.

Professor Longbottom gave her one last chance before he took the megaphone away.

'Sorry about that, folks! Okay, so it's Hufflepuff in possession...'

Macmillan and Cadwallader scored a goal apiece, and James and Albus raised them both figuratively and literally; the former taking care of the "literally" after his brother scored two goals. The Head Boy probably _would_ have been reprimanded for his indecent gestures if it hadn't been up in the air and so skilfully hidden from teachers' eyes.

Fred's eyes were following Barbara's attempts at the Golden Snitch almost more attentively than he was watching the Bludgers in play. Clarke continued hot on her tail, flying above and slightly behind the Head Girl.

Though he knew there was nothing there, and that the whole thing was a bloody _Quidditch_ game for crying out loud, Fred couldn't help but be wary. Miles Clarke looked good on paper, and from afar, but the Gryffindor Beater knew what pricks lay underneath.

(Which was a pity, really, because he'd been waiting for Rose to screw up again so he could use "every rose has its thorn" on _her_ and not some Merlin-Mary Hufflepuff.)

* * *

Miles Clarke took a Bludger to the shoulder seven minutes later, at which time James Potter scored a goal with his eyes closed while holding onto his broom one-handed just to prove to everyone he could, and Barbara Tennant caught the last Snitch she ever would as the Gryffindor Seeker.

Hufflepuff had managed to score four more goals, but this was mostly because Wood felt pitying, and the entirety of Gryffindor house departed the stands with nothing but a well-earned party on their minds.

* * *

At this party, which lasted for almost twelve hours and celebrated nothing in particular (minus their win and probable Quidditch Cup success), there were barrels of butterbeer, flasks of firewhiskey, and a Ravenclaw who refused to enter the Gryffindor common room under the directive that it "wasn't allowed".

'Bloody law-abiding citizens...' James grumbled. 'Goody-Two-Shoes _Ravenclaws_...!' He had already drank a pint of mead.

Cordelia Gilbert observed the Head Boy. '_You_,' she scolded, 'are supposed to set an _example_. Not get _drunk_ and frolic about in front of first-years.'

'First-years, my arse,' said James, who did not take to alcohol particularly well when previously exhausted (_Quidditch games were physically and emotionally draining, especially when _). 'We told them all to go to bed or outside or dinner or something... or at least that's what Felix said had happened.'

The Ravenclaw raised her eyebrows, peeking through the portrait hole. She pointed to a girl in the corner. '_She_ is Verity Cattermole; one of the youngest in her year, so my brother says.' Folding her arms, she added: '_And _she's a _firstie_.'

'W-Well,' James spluttered, 'a-apart from Verity Cattermole...' In hopes to distract her from his plain guilt, he changed the subject: 'Come in! You won't get in _trouble_!'

He dodged a flying slice of sponge cake as it soared out of the portrait hole. Cordelia stepped a bit further away from where it fell, before pulling out her wand and Vanishing the mess with an almost lazy flick of her wand.

'Come on—please?'

The Ravenclaw shook her head. 'No. Really. It's dinnertime anyway; seems like you lot are eating up here, so I'll just head off to the Great Hall and eat tea with Bridget...'

'Is this because I'm not as good at "not drinking" as you are?'

She had already half-turned to leave, and then Cordelia shook her head. 'No,' she continued to say for what seemed like the eightieth time, 'it's not because you've had a pint or whatever it is that's making you... marginally _not right_... it's because it's dinnertime and I'm hungry and I don't want to risk getting in trouble by "partying" with your entire _house_.'

'Not the first-years,' James reminded her.

Cordelia chuckled. 'No—not the first years.'

* * *

_**February 19**_

* * *

'Imagine how weird that must feel,' said Andy.

The fair-haired boy in the green-and-silver tie turned to her. 'What?'

'You know... the fact that James Potter, Fred Weasley, Barbara Tennant and Christopher Wood are _never_ going to play a Hogwarts Quidditch game again?'

Scorpius looked up at Patricia, whose legs he was leaning on since he sat on the grass and she on a tree root placed significantly higher. Patricia considered the Hufflepuff's statement. 'Same for Miles Clarke, but I don't really think anybody will _miss_ going against him.'

'Nah,' Scorpius put in. 'But those Gryffindors...' He paused, taking a moment to be simply in thought. 'I don't know—it'll be interesting to see who they get to replace everybody.'

As though on cue, Albus and Louis strolled by. They seemed to have heard their friends' conversation.

'I've already had a few ideas,' the Gryffindor Prefect confided.

'Yeah? Like who?'

'Do you know Liz Pembridge? Our year, Gryffindor; strong-willed, stubborn; sort of stocky?'

The company nodded with different degrees of certainty.

'She's a great Beater,' Albus told them. 'And Lily's probably going to switch to Seeker; Hugo likes the idea of playing Keeper, because that's what he does at home, but...' He stopped, looking slyly over at them all. 'I can't trust any of you,' he said with dawning realization. 'You're all from other houses—hell, Scorpius, you're the _Captain_ of the _Slytherin_ team! You'd probably drop a statue on Liz's head!'

Scorpius frowned. 'Well, I can't do it now that you _know_...'

Louis looked at his cousin. 'You're going to have to deal with this, mate; you're the easy candidate for captain.'

The other three nodded slightly. Patricia watched a collection of third-year boys marvelling at a trail of spiders making their way to the Forbidden Forest and she herself shuddered.

Things _were_ going to be weird come September, but Quidditch might not just be all.

* * *

_**February 20**_

* * *

That Monday was Louis Weasley's seventeenth birthday. His gifts were swell, his cake was lovely, and his family were somewhat normal.

(There was even one of the many "tedious-let's-not-mention-because-_boring_-and-embarrassing" Apparition lessons, in which Louis succeeded for the first time to properly Apparate without Splinching. Only eight others in his year had managed it properly before this point.)

* * *

_**February 21**_

* * *

Tuesday morning was going nicely. Everything was serene, and the day had been easy-going. Nobody had been stressed. It was for this reason that almost everyone in the castle was set into a sort of calm state, as though nothing was wrong in the world. "Idyllic."

'Me and Louis used to talk about having birthdays together when we were little,' Rose confided. 'Mine is always a week after his: last day of February.' Her dreamy tone faded and she added, 'except on a leap year, of course.'

Melissa continued in the process of gnawing on a quill as she finished her Charms homework. 'And this birthday's the _special_ one: seventeen! What do you want to do?'

'I don't know,' sighed Rose. 'I don't really think I want to do _any_—'

The door flew off its hinges and shattered into a thousand wooden shards on the floor at the end of the room.

'—I hate her! _I hate that slagheap: that ugly, slutty bint! _Who does she think she is? I have been seeing this bastard for two bloody weeks and then she—she just—_how dare she? _He was going out with _me! She's meant to have a bloody—_I can't believe somebody would just—_I hate her!_'


	29. The Return of Moony

**Disclaimer:** I can't be credited for anything. (Except butchering quality characters thought up by J.K. Rowling.)

**AN: **I'm in transit, waiting to board a flight to Manila after getting off a twelve-hour one from Auckland to Malaysia. I tried to upload before my flight, but the internet at my great grandmother's house was hopeless.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

"**The Return of Moony"**

**Or**

"**Today feels like I will never age".**

* * *

_**February 22**_

_**(and a recap on the 21st)**_

* * *

It was not unknown that Shelley Corner had been, up until six twenty-three in the evening of February 21, in a healthy, faithful relationship with Dylan McCormick. However, by six twenty-seven the Ravenclaw had been pressed against a wall with half her shirt buttoned and her lips on a completely unrelated boy's neck.

In her defence, she had not known that this bloke had been (strictly speaking) going out with Lottie Flanagan, but she probably would have done it anyway. She was bored and she had to prove that she _wasn't_ falling for Dylan and Lottie Flanagan was kind of annoying anyway and who would ever find out?

But this was Hogwarts, and acting on carnal desires in somewhere as undisguised as the stairs leading out of the Entrance Hall _had_ been sort of stupid. Borderline reckless. Then again, Shelley Corner had never set much store by the rules.

It had been Lottie who found them —Shelley and the unnamed Ravenclaw bloke. (He was called Coriccon Eleander, and people almost preferred him nameless.) After the initial screeching and a hex or two, she stomped off to Gryffindor tower, and hadn't set foot out since.

The time was now five forty-nine, and Shelley hadn't even seen Lottie in lessons. Missing meals was understandable —even _she _had wanted to do it a couple of times, just to avoid everyone's words and looks—but lessons, too? It seemed dreadfully severe. After all: Flanagan had only been dating this bloke two weeks. McCormick hadn't even been too disappointed at a break-up, and they had been together almost five months! Then again, Dylan had sort of been more interested in somebody _other_ than the girl he had been tied to, so circumstances were different.

Lottie Flanagan was one of the strict, monogamous types.

* * *

_**February 23**_

* * *

'Lottie! Come out—you _must_!'

'It's been two days, and we let you stay locked up, but...'

'Now it's getting mental, and you _mustn't_ stay in the bathroom! Everybody's on your side, if that's what you're worried about.'

'Everyone _would_ be,' Liz Pembridge muttered. 'If Hogwarts students have the chance to do something Shelley damn Corner doesn't like, they'll do it in a heartbeat.'

There was a muffled shout from inside the locked bathroom, and the other three occupants of the sixth-year dorm glanced at one another. A moment of silence ensued, in which Lottie hoped they had decided to give up and leave her be, and also in which Rose Weasley decided that she would have to go and get Barbara Tennant. She was the Head Girl—and a seventh year, with more experience than any of them combined. Barbara would know what to do.

There was another person inside the Head Girl's chambers when Rose knocked. This turned out to be Jess Thomas, who seemed accomplished enough in the field of Charms, so Rose asked her along, too.

'I'm terribly sorry to be of trouble,' the sixth-year repeated for the seventh time as the trio hurried down the two flights of stairs.

'Don't worry,' said Barbara reassuringly, 'it's my job to do things like this. I _am_ Head Girl.'

'And I'm not all too sure why _I'm_ coming along, but it should be fun.'

Ignoring Jess, the other two girls hurried into Rose's dormitory. Liz and Melissa were still standing outside the bathroom, and Lottie hadn't joined them, so it was correctly assumed that no progress had been made.

'Lottie...' Barbara began, leaning up against the bathroom door and speaking in a soothing, motherly tone. 'It's me; it's Barbara Tennant.'

A shriek exploded from the bathroom, and the seventh-year staggered back in shock.

'_You called the Head Girl?_' Lottie screeched from within.

Hoping to save her housemates some trouble, Barbara negated this statement. 'No, no; I just noticed that you hadn't been at breakfast in the last couple of days and since I heard what happened, I wanted to check in and make sure you're all right.'

She paused for good measure, but Lottie didn't speak.

Continuing in the same soothing tone, touched with the perfect dash of concern: '_Are_ you all right, Lottie?'

It was silent for a moment before the tiny girl in the bathroom admitted the obvious.

'No,' said Lottie, hollow and soft. 'No, I'm _not_ okay!'

Barbara glanced at the four girls grouped together behind her: Liz and Melissa returned a questioning look, Rose more apprehensive, Jess completely clueless. To complete the gesture, the seventh-year even shrugged. With a sigh, the Head Girl realized she was on her own in fighting this battle.

'Fine,' she muttered. She took another deep breath, before pulling out her wand. (In case she had to open the door with a spell.) 'Lottie... can I come in? Just to talk?'

No response came.

'I promise it'll just be me,' Barbara guaranteed. 'I won't try to make you come out...'

After a moment of absolute nothingness, the door to the bathroom creaked open and swirling tendrils of steam rolled out. Rose and Liz exchanged glances.

Barbara didn't even turn back to judge their facial expressions before she slipped into the gap of the door.

The entire bathroom was clouded in steam, and though it wasn't incredibly large, her vision was so obscured that she couldn't even see Lottie. When at last she _did_ locate the redhead and her large mass of curls, the sixth-year was curled up on top of the closed toilet seat.

Lottie obviously wore considerable make-up, because tracks of mascara coloured her cheeks. Glittering blue eye-shadow was slightly smudged, and sticky, sparkly lip gloss rubbed across the girl's chin like she had tried to smear it away. Judging from the strong scent of perfume, Lottie had remained hygienic. Somehow, she managed to have found three different outfits in the bathroom, and they were laid out over the towel rack.

Lottie looked at Barbara. Barbara looked back.

'How bad is it?' asked the former.

'Kind or honest?'

Lottie groaned, but told the Head Girl, 'be honest.'

'It's awful,' said Barbara; 'but it's not anything you can't bounce back from. And after seeing you in the common room for six years,' she added, 'you're quite good at bouncing.'

'Oh, but... but bouncing is the _problem_!' cried Lottie. 'I spent so much _time_ on this bloke—he's in your year, which makes it even harder for me to get him properly, and I wasted all this time being bouncy and adorable and wonderful-little-Lottie that I didn't even think he'd... I didn't think he'd go off with Corner!'

Barbara nodded mournfully. 'Ashwood's a bastard.'

But Lottie had other ideas.

'He's _not_, though! He's sweet and responsible and he never pressured me into doing anything—_I_ had to kiss him first, you know! And the first time we m-made—'

'—you were together _two weeks_...'

'I know,' said Lottie sadly, forgetting her strand of thought altogether. 'But I l-loved him so.'

Tears began to well up in her eyes and Barbara placed her hand on the younger girl's arm to encourage her.

'It's all right, Lottie.'

'I know I should hate him,' she sniffled. 'Because he's an arse, and he's a _prick_, and he's worse than that because he's a _cheating_ arse-prick, but... it's just...'

Barbara continued to rub her arm. 'I know, I know.'

'He's just—_I hate him_! I hate that I hate him and I hate that I love him and I hate that _she_ had to go and wreck everything just because she felt the need to, because I honestly thought I had something with him that could've been really good, but...' She broke off, tugging on some toilet paper and blowing her nose into it.

'Trust me,' said the Head Girl, 'this isn't the end, Lottie. This isn't the end for you. I won't allow it. The two of them need to know that them being idiots hasn't hurt Lottie Flanagan, because—I don't care if you say they hurt you; you can't let _them_ see that, can you?—because _you're_ above that, and you're above them.'

For a moment, Barbara's words sunk in around the two Gryffindors and nobody said anything. The elder sat there breathing in the scent of aniseed oil and lavender, and the younger tried to decide whether or not she wanted to listen.

Finally, she nodded.

'You're right,' said Lottie. 'You're right.'

'Good.'

'They can't hurt me, and Ashwood is going to regret being such an idiot, because I'm going to make him miss me. I'm going to make him!'

* * *

_**February 24**_

* * *

Nicholas Ashwood's eyes opened wide.

Lottie Flanagan had just strolled through the Entrance Hall, her hair in two long plaits and her clothing bright with colour, and she hadn't looked his way once.

The two of them had met at Slughorn's Yule Ball (type-thing) because he went with one of her mates as a favour, and then started going out two weeks ago. Things had been going quite well by both of their standards' until Shelley Corner held him against a wall and proceeded to make out with him.

It wasn't like he hadn't made out with Corner before, because he had, at least three times (he had been single a while before Lottie, yes?); but Lottie had walked down to dinner very early, when the Entrance Hall should have been deserted, and...

Well, she had found them.

And then Nicholas had lost her.

He wasn't in _love_ with her; it was nothing that intense, but the Gryffindor was girlish and smiley and liked to kiss him. And he liked to kiss her.

But after spending two-and-a-bit days hidden from the public, Lottie had emerged, and she hadn't paid him the slightest attention.

* * *

'Didn't even look at you?' asked Will Bowen.

'Didn't even look at me,' Ashwood confirmed.

'To be fair,' said Will, fixing himself some toast at Ravenclaw table, 'you _did_ cheat on her.' Then the Keeper noticed he was about to interrupt, and continued swiftly: 'I know that you're saying Shelley Corner showed up and snogged you senseless, but you were stupid enough to let her do it _and_ you were stupid enough to get caught.'

'We're supposed to be mates!'

'We _are_ mates. Part of being mates is being honest with each other.'

'That Rose Weasley's a brat. While we're being honest.'

'You're saying that because you're pissed off.'

'Mostly, yes. I'm sorry.'

'You said "brat"; I could tell it wasn't sincere.'

'Would you prefer "bitch"?'

'I'd prefer "_shut up_."'

* * *

That evening before dinner:

'Lottie! Lottie Flanagan!'

The redhead in question turned around, as did her three companions (Liz Pembridge, Albus Potter and Louis Weasley) and she looked surprised.

'Oh, hello, Nicholas. What did you want?'

'What about "Nick"? You called me "Nick" before.'

With a temperamental wave of her hand, Lottie dismissed this, saying, 'times change.'

Pembridge, Potter and Weasley shuffled into the Great Hall for dinner; Ashwood couldn't help but notice Lottie's statement was a loaded one.

_"Times change"_ meant "we're not together and we never will be again."

_"Times change"_ meant "get over it."

_"Times change"_ meant a lot of things, none of which Ashwood thought positive.

'Look,' he said meaningfully, 'what happened with Corner was... bad. It was wrong. I shouldn't have done it.'

'No,' said Lottie; 'you shouldn't have.'

'But I just want to tell you—she instigated the whole thing. Yes, I made the mistake of kissing her back, and I really wish I hadn't, but I'm sorry.'

She was quiet momentarily. 'For what? For cheating on me, or for humiliating me enough that the whole school _knows_ you cheated on me?'

'Both,' he said helplessly. 'But I'm sorry. I've said that, and I mean it, and I just... I...'

Lottie raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. 'I'm over it. I don't need your excuses.' She turned on her heel and got halfway to the Great Hall before rounding back and whispering, 'oh, and—_eff_ you; don't talk to me.'

In place of the "_eff_" was a coarse, harsh word that Nicholas Ashwood hadn't wanted to hear. (Who ever does, really?)

* * *

_**February 25**_

* * *

Cordelia Gilbert caught up with Rose when she left the library. She was wearing a bright blue jumper, which Cordelia found ironic, considering hers was bright red. Rose noticed this when they got past the obligatory greetings, and the Ravenclaw was pleased about it.

'Great minds think alike,' she said, grinning. She inhaled, suddenly turning very businesslike. 'Now—Rose—what would you like for your birthday?'

The Gryffindor blinked. After a beat: 'W-what?'

'What would you like for your birthday? I know it's on the twenty-eighth, so that's little more than two days away, and I feel rotten that I'm even having to _ask_, but—'

'—Cordelia, Cordelia; you don't have to get me anything!'

'But I'd like to. I mean, I got something for Louis.'

Rose smiled. 'You don't have to get me anything,' she began, '_but_ if Lou's getting me that Ancient Runes book I asked for, and Al's already pitched in, then you might want to just add a Sickle or something to that fund?'

Cordelia looked as though she were considering it, but then shook her head. 'I've got to do more than _that_.' She paused for a moment, deep in thought. She even lifted her finger to her chin like they did in Muggle films. 'What's your favourite type of cake?'

'Cake?'

'Cake.'

'Er—red velvet with white icing and those little silver ball things on top,' Rose said, thinking quickly.

Cordelia nodded to show she knew what Rose meant.

'You're not going to bake me a cake, are you?'

'Money-free, isn't it?'

Rose admitted defeat, but as Cordelia departed she called, 'you don't have to!'

She heard something like a chuckle as the Ravenclaw rounded the corner, but otherwise received no response.

(She really _was_ unfairly lovely.)

* * *

_**February 26**_

* * *

Horace Slughorn located his target on the fifth floor, speaking to a bushy-haired Hufflepuff girl in front of some portrait captioned "Igor the Inventive".

'Albus!' he cried cheerfully. 'Albus, my boy!'

The Gryffindor smiled courteously. 'Hello, Professor.'

Supposing he should probably show some recognition in relation to the Hufflepuff girl, Horace muttered, 'Nice to see you, Figgins.'

The two sixth-years spoke at the same time; Albus asking, 'is there anything I can help you with, Professor?' and Andy correcting, 'it's Fawcett.'

The ancient wizard addressed the former statement. 'Yes, Albus, you can—I'd like to just see how your tea with Hagrid went; it _was_ a pity you couldn't get to my dinner party...'

He paused to allow Albus some time for sympathy. Deciding that it was acceptable to move on, Slughorn said, 'I'm holding another one in March; the 21st, actually... you should look in...' Then, feeling badly that Andy was just standing there awkwardly: 'and bring Miss Foster with you.'

'It's Fawcett,' she muttered once more, but Slughorn was no longer listening. He bustled off after a group of Hufflepuffs, presumably to accost them about attending the dinner party, too.

Albus looked at his companion. 'Sorry about him,' he said.

Andy shook her head. 'Don't worry about it.'

'You don't have to go if you don't want to.'

'_You_ do. If you don't want to.'

Albus chuckled. 'Yeah, but that's because my parents say that I should try and be respectful. Don't know why—they hated "Slug Club" dos as much as we do, but... Merlin, I'm rambling, aren't I?'

'It's okay,' said she; 'it's that cute kind of rambling that lots of girls find incredibly attractive.'

He looked at her, and she back at him.

'I... didn't mean it like that,' she said slowly.

Nodding awkwardly: 'No. Er—of-of course not.'

* * *

The two sixth-years reached the Room of Requirement a few minutes later; the walk from Slughorn's location of confrontation had been silent and tinged with uncomfortable. Albus had taken to inspecting long strands of his jet black hair, and Andy the portraits on the walls, most of whom either smiled and her or jumped when they noticed the volume of her hair.

When the door to the Room opened, it showed four teenagers already inside: Scorpius and Patricia tangled together on one couch, though ultimately not embraced, and Louis and Cordelia, one of whom had been absent from many of the "Rory" meetings due to her either doing homework as Ravenclaws did, planning Rose's birthday gift, and spending time with James; and both of whom were sitting on the opposite couch. Andy noticed this all in the split second before Scorpius realized their presence and a loud onslaught began.

'What took you two so long?'

'Did you make a steamy detour?'

'Don't answer, Al; only you and I are allowed to do that.'

'Shush, Scorpius—let them talk.'

'_You_ "shush", Louis.'

'Can we speak now?'

'Yes, Andy.'

'Okay,' said the Hufflepuff. 'No. There were no "steamy detours"; we were bombarded by Slughorn. He asked Al to a party and got my name wrong twice.'

Patricia made a face. 'It's okay,' she assured, 'it took Slughorn three months to learn my name, and I'm in his house, _and_ I'm best friends with his favourite Malfoy.'

'You just wish Slughorn loved you like I do.'

She considered it. 'No. I just wish he knew my name without you telling him.'

Cordelia moved over, further from Louis, so that Albus and Andy could sit down on the magical couch as it extended to accommodate them comfortably. At the sight of the Ravenclaw, a slightly red tint coloured Albus's cheeks, but he quickly regained composure. She knew he was trying to get over her—as far as she knew, he had succeeded—and he wasn't allowed to fancy her. He wasn't. They could be super-close-brother-sister-best-friends-forever-and-until-the-end-of-infinity, but no more than that.

After that, he focused his efforts into the fireplace.

There was quietness in the room for a moment, and then Cordelia asked, 'what do you guys plan to do after Hogwarts?'

The "After Hogwarts" talk was, surprisingly, one of the few that hadn't been exchanged, and everybody took it up most heartily. Louis wanted to go and live with his Uncle Charlie in Romania, and work with dragons; Andy intended to stay working at the Leaky Cauldron and perhaps do something else in the culinary world over time; Albus, though he didn't fancy a Ministry job very much, wanted to be an Auror, like his father.

'I'm going to chill out,' said Scorpius. 'Perhaps work in a bar or something for a while; just do something simple... marry Patricia at twenty-five...'

The rest of the group joined one-another in widened eyes.

'Don't worry!' Patricia assured them, waving her hands to stop their apparent shock (Albus had almost fallen off the couch; he would have, if Andy hadn't thrown an arm out to steady him). 'It's just a joke—Scorpius thinks what I want to do is menial, and so he told me he'd marry me and be my practical choice.'

Louis looked as though he had swallowed something the wrong way, but said, 'oh. Practical.'

'What's wrong with you doing something relaxed—or "menial"—if Scorpius plans on doing the same thing? Why won't it stand for Patricia?'

Scorpius looked at Cordelia, for it was she who had spoken. 'It's different: I'm rich. And I only intend to do lazy things until I'm about thirty; then I'll go out and do something world-changing.'

Albus considered the point, then realized one member of their company hadn't confided what it was she wanted to do after their time at Hogwarts was up.

'Cordelia,' he noted, 'you never told us about _you_.'

'Oh,' she said. 'I want to write.' She looked at Scorpius quickly. 'I know: "writing doesn't pay the bills," I've heard it all before.'

'Not unless you're good at it,' said Louis, his tone encouraging.

'She is,' Patricia put in. 'Good. I've read things of hers.'

'Novels,' Albus asked, 'or articles, like for the _Prophet_?'

The Ravenclaw considered the point. Her mother's cousin—Miranda Goshawk—had written spell-books that were featured on the Hogwarts curriculum, so it wasn't as though she was the first in her family who wanted to write. But Cordelia wasn't particularly interested in writing spell-books. 'Articles, but only at first; novels, eventually.'

Scorpius sat up, dislodging himself from Patricia's limbs. 'Well,' he said, picking up a half-finished bottle of butterbeer, 'dedicate one to us.'

* * *

_**February 27**_

* * *

The Gryffindor boys' dormitory was rocked by something that felt like an earthquake. Smoke billowed out of the Head Boy's bedroom, and as a small group of younger boys gathered, James Potter himself emerged.

Coughing and cursing, he looked around at them all, and after a moment of confusion, he moved the arm he had been spluttering into away from his face, and explained: 'Fred Weasley is dangerous with a pack of Fizzing Whizbees.'

Fred's head appeared in the centre of the smoke plume. 'Sorry, mate—could you come back in here?' He moved back into James's room as he continued, 'I think I broke your bathroom. And perhaps half-murdered your owl.'

The chamber was still clogged and smoggy, so James pulled out his wand and cleared the air with a spell. (It seemed faster than Fred's alternative of opening the three windows on the opposite wall.)

The Head Boy crossed the room to where his owl had been sitting in its cage. The bird was now free and perched on the top of James's four-poster. If owls could glare, it did.

'Come on, Moony,' James groaned lethargically. 'Don't be difficult.'

His owl had been named "Moony", after the Marauder, though for a variety of different reasons: Remus was the only worthwhile member of the group who had not been featured in James's own name, the word "Moony" simply sounded cool to say, and also: owls, when not used as magical messengers, were nocturnal.

Fred hurried out of the bathroom with two chunks of marble in his raised hands. 'I can see the grounds from your shower.'

'Then you can see my shower from the grounds.'

'Rubbi... I'll put these back in place,' said Fred hastily, not even bothering to finish his first thought.

James nodded and resumed the task of convincing his owl that it was safe to leave the top of the four-poster.

'Seriously, Moony... it's fine; I won't let Fred near you. You'll be completely safe.'

The owl did not believe him, and so James pulled a quill from his pocket, dipped it in the ink well on his dressing-table, and found a spare piece of parchment on which to scribble a note. He did so and then turned back to Moony, his hands raised up to his chin with the parchment in their clutches.

'Moony,' James said slowly, 'take this to Cordelia Gilbert; at this time of night, she'll probably be in Ravenclaw tower, the sixth-year girls' dormitories. I think there's a window you can get in from.'

When the owl didn't move: 'please, Moony?'

For a moment, the owl did nothing. Then Moony blinked twice and reached down to take the piece of parchment from James, who decided it was best to tie the note to Moony's ankle.

With a ruffle of feathers, Moony departed from the leftmost window and disappeared. Just then, Fred came back into the room, sliding his wand into his back pocket.

'Well, that's all better,' he said, 'no more opportunities for perversion.'

James grinned. 'Thanks, mate.'

'Why don't you call me that nickname anymore?' Fred asked, his brow furrowing slightly. 'You know—"Eyes"?'

James shrugged, and then collapsed backwards onto his bed. 'I don't know. Got kind of bored with it.'

'I liked having a nickname.'

The Head Boy took a moment to think. 'What about... nah, I can't think of anything. But do you know what I just noticed, as I was wracking my brains for an award-winning soubriquet?'

'What?'

'Your name's like a weasel and mine's like an otter.'

Even though there was practically no joke, both seventh-years burst out into discordant laughter; hooting until their sides ached from mirth. Fred had tears in his eyes by the time he managed to settle down.

'Are we _high_?' he asked rhetorically.

James shook his head, red-faced from having to prevent laughter.

'Oh,' said Fred. 'I just noticed something _funny_.'

'What?'

Both boys felt quite punch-drunk.

'You—You know how you're d-dating Cordelia?'

'...Yeah...'

'Her last name's _Gilbert_. And you know how we were thinking about animal names, right?'

James nodded, still not quite comprehending the punch-line of the joke.

'Gilbert... doesn't it sound like Gil_bird_?'

After a second or two, the intoxicated feeling filled them up, and James and Fred both began roaring with guffaws once more.

'Gilbird!' James cried.

'_Gilbird_,' Fred smirked. 'That's like weasel and _otter_!'

It was silent for a moment, then simultaneously...

'Gilbird.'

* * *

_**February 28**_

* * *

'Happy Birthday, dear _Rose_... happy birthday to you!'

Deciding she did not _want_ a party, Rose Weasley had spent the evening in her dormitory with her roommates and her presents and her _cake_, which Cordelia Gilbert had asked Andy Fawcett and a house-elf to help her with, and another house-elf to send up for the evening.

Lottie helped collect the wrapping paper and surplus ribbons that had fallen from the Prefect's bed. At the same time, Melissa pulled out her wand and made sparks with it, so that they spelled out the words "Happy Birthday, Rose". This sparked an entire game where each girl wrote things until they became progressively more inappropriate; it ended with Liz Pembridge crossing out Lottie's drawing of a reproductive organ and insisting they all let Rose enjoy what was left of her birthday without abrasiveness.

'Aren't you _so_ happy to be seventeen, Rose?'

She looked at Lottie. 'I guess. I mean, I _feel_ different—I could legally Apparate now; when I get home I'll be able to perform spells without permission—'

'—scandalous,' Liz mocked.

'Shut up!' scolded Rose. 'It's the _idea_ that I love; it's not as though I've never done magic outside Hogwarts. How do you think Louis went bald before third-year?'

He and Rose had had a fight about which Quidditch team was better, and Louis had made her quite mad. The effects of the Balding Hex weren't long-lasting, but he _did_ have to go half of September 1st before his hair appeared back on his head, just as it had been before.

'I can't believe you're seventeen. That seems so old.'

'You're going to be the last in the dormitory, Lottie.'

'I know, but at least I can _say_ it's old.'

'Seventeen.'

Wow. _Seventeen_.

* * *

_**March 1**_

* * *

**(Penny Lane)**

'_Penny Lane is in my ears, and in my eyes..._'

James Potter did not often begin the day with songs almost as old as his grandparents (this was much less likely if it was a Muggle band), but this was March, and it was his birthday month, and since he had the room to himself, it didn't matter what anybody else would have thought. The Head Boy could do what he wanted.

'_There beneath the blue suburban skies... I sit and meanwhile back _—'

Hauling himself out of bed, James flicked his wrist lazily and the wand he had previously picked up increased the volume of the music to an almost deafening level; he needed to be able to hear it from the shower.

'_Penny Lane, there is a fireman with an hourglass; and in his pocket is a portrait of the queen..._'

He crossed the room in his pyjama bottoms, opening the bathroom door and watching the light turn up magically. He turned on the shower, heating the water until it was hot enough: instantly warm, and incredibly hot, but without the hissing sting of scalding water.

'_...He likes to keep his fire engine clean..._'

James stripped off and climbed under the beating jets of the shower.

'_It's a clean machine.._.'

* * *

**(Good Morning Sunshine)**

There was a different feeling in the air when Barbara Tennant woke up on the first of March. It was as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders; a weight that shouldn't have been. It was little over three months until she sat her N.E.W.T. examinations: the tests that would decide her entire future—where she could work, live; _afford_ to set foot—everything depended on her N.E.W.T.s.

It just didn't seem to matter now, though. It was the first of March. She had the whole of this month (minus the six and a half hours of it in which she had been asleep) and the entirety of April and May to worry.

March was sunshine: it wasn't summer, but it was sunshine. It was trailing into spring, and all it entailed; while this season usually warranted flowers and vegetation, Barbara felt sunshine.

She _felt_ like sunshine.

She was bathed and dressed and all cleaned up; and for the first time in a while, Barbara wanted to put in some effort. She wanted to be like Christmas Barbara and Wedding Barbara—she wanted to be Sunshine.

The Head Girl curled her hair and put a nice (_summer_) dress on under her uniform Gryffindor robe. She polished her red-and-gold badge, and wore little heeled shoes. Her make-up wasn't applied in great lashings; her cheeks were rosy enough, and she hadn't stopped smiling.

It was March, and for some unexplainable reason, she loved it.

It was March, and Barbara felt like _Sunshine_.

* * *

**(Blackbird)**

Cordelia Gilbert began the day in a slow, wonderstruck manner. She climbed out of bed to discover Tabitha already had, and looked across the dormitory at the quiet girl: her light brown-blonde hair was being brushed into a pristine ponytail; Cordelia felt a sudden rush of affection for her housemate, and knew no explicable reason for why.

'You look really pretty today, Tabitha,' Cordelia said softly.

Tabitha blushed, not looking at her but at the line of birds sitting outside the window. 'Thank you.'

It was a moment before Cordelia heard Tabitha speak again. She had her hand on the door to the bathroom when the other girl said, 'oh—Cordelia; there's a new raspberry- and peppermint-scented body wash. I don't know who put it there... is it yours?'

The Prefect shook her head. 'I think there was a bottle in there on September first, before we used it all; perhaps it was a house-elf? They sometimes do this sort of thing, don't they?'

Neither girl had a house-elf at their own home, and so they were unsure, but Cordelia shrugged it off and entered the bathroom. The scent of raspberry and peppermint washed over her, and she could heard the muted twittering of the birds outside.

March had begun quite nicely, if you asked Cordelia Gilbert.

* * *

**(Sort Of)**

Scorpius woke up in the Room of Requirement. He wasn't alone; a smaller body was curled up against his, and the long brown hair covering the company's face made it apparent that Patricia was the entity in question.

It was a sweet start to the month; the Room had lit itself in such a way that the morning sunlight was streaming in, and on the other side of it, there was a door labelled "_Water Closet_". Fortunately, Scorpius was on the outside edge of the couch, which had somehow morphed itself into a bed over the course of the night, and he slid off to go and freshen up in the other room.

Inside, he found two sets of Slytherin robes and two different outfits sitting folded on a shelf beside the bath. Scorpius decided that the dress probably wasn't for him, and instead picked the button-down shirt and jeans once he was finished in the shower.

'It's almost seven thirty,' he murmured, nudging Patricia's sleeping form when he returned to the other room.

She made a non-committal sound and replied, 'five more minutes.'

'Don't you want a shower? There's clothing for you in the bathroom, too.'

Patricia rolled over to face him, considerably more awake. 'Fine,' she grumbled. 'But I'm doing this because you probably don't want me to miss Wednesday lessons.'

'You love me, don't you?'

'More than you love me,' she muttered, clambering out of bed.

She was wrong. She was so wrong.

* * *

_**March 2**_

* * *

Thursday. Thursday. Thursday.

Day after Wednesday, day before Friday—almost the end of the week, but not quite there.

Andy spent time with Albus who was trying not to stare at Cordelia who was talking to James at the time. Scorpius tried to translate that he was more in love with Patricia than she in him but she insisted it was the other way around and then went to talk to Venice who was looking at McCormick who was half looking back and half wondering why Shelley Corner had dumped him.

(And Shelley was flirting with Isaiah Zabini, the seventh-year Slytherin.)

* * *

_**March 3**_

* * *

Fred Weasley was in love with Barbara Tennant, and he told her so.

He had said it before, but it was always good to say, and always good to hear. And in that moment there were only two people in the whole of Hogwarts who really, really knew the meaning of the word.

(And I don't mean any other couple loved each other any less; Barbara and Fred were older and more upfront about their love. The honesty was what made the difference, really.)

* * *

_**March 4 & 5**_

* * *

Hogsmeade Saturday provided lots of entertainment: _Witch Weekly_ reporters following James and Cordelia around when all they were trying to do was go to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop and get the Ravenclaw a new one; Fred and Barbara sharing a kiss in the garden at the end of the road, which had grown significantly and was now filled with light and colour and sunshine (Barbara's new favourite thing); Albus ditched Louis in Honeyduke's and went to a music shop with Andy to see if they had the album she wanted, which Scorpius and Patricia took much pleasure in teasing them about later, with the former insisting that 'the two of you should just go out; it's not as though you've got millions of other mates, or are in _other relationships with somebody's brother_', which was really just him trying to help Albus get over Cordelia and not doing it very well.

Will was also in the music shop when Andy and Albus were, and he asked them what Rose's favourite band was so he could buy her an album; Lily and Lucy followed Alana Harris around and threw a butterbeer bottle at her head as she walked into The Three Broomsticks; Hugo was dawdling up Main Street looking for Louis and instead ran into Gabbie Sterling, who had the courtesy to pretend he said something hilariously funny when Alana stomped past (evidently she had found out what Lily and Lucy were trying to do).

Over all: not a bad outing.

* * *

Sunday included similar behaviour from almost everyone, with the addition of Lottie ignoring Nicholas Ashwood's extensive attempts to talk to her. She even went so far as to flirt with Louis, who felt simultaneously like he was having a fever-dream and that he wanted to die right then and there from embarrassment.

* * *

_**March 6**_

* * *

**WEASLEY WANDERING WHISTLE-STOP WITH WOMAN**

**by Mia Daly**

_Move over, James Potter; your cousin's in love!_

_ Fred Weasley II, son of WWW-founder George Weasley and sports-savvy wife Angelina, was spotted this weekend in Hogsmeade, and he seems to be following the latest trend._

_ That's right! Above there, in that picture, you're seeing Fred Weasley share his first public kiss with girlfriend Barbara Tennant. Tennant's parents are a Scottish-man and an Englishwoman, living on the border between both countries, and they probably didn't expect to find their eighteen-year-old kissing a young celebrity in Hogsmeade—especially not one she has been best friends with since their first train ride on the Hogwarts Express!_

_ Yes, readers, I know what you're thinking. There's nothing as cute as best-friends-turned-something-more! Apparently, they're getting pretty serious... she even went to the wedding of Teddy and Victoire Lupin in January, as no less than Fred's date!_

_ Will we be hearing these two with wedding bells chiming soon? They're getting to the end of their Hogwarts lives. I personally can't wait to hear what happens with these two!_

_ Keep your eyes out, witches; I know I will be._

* * *

'Now you know what it feels like,' said Cordelia Gilbert.

Barbara sighed, setting down her quill. 'I don't know if I find it cool—because, you know, that's _me_, in a magazine!—but at the same time, it's like... I'm not even a _celebrity_. Don't talk about me!'

'_And _they mentioned your parents. They haven't done that for me.'

The Head Girl considered the point. 'It's a good thing Mum and Dad don't read _Witch Weekly_,' she said. 'I can't imagine how awkward it would be for them to open it up and see me kissing Fred.'

Her companion nodded in firm agreement. They both despised the idea of their relationships concerning any more than the two people who were in them. Barbara was busy enough being Head Girl, Seeker, getting through her N.E.W.T. exams to hopefully get a job in the International Affairs Office at the Ministry; she didn't want the added stress of having to watch out for what she and Fred were doing together on their weekend dates!

A group of fourth-year Ravenclaws were sitting at the table behind Cordelia and Barbara, and over the hushed buzzing of the whispered library talk, their conversation reached the older pair's ears.

'Yes,' said one of the fourth-years, 'that article—the one in _Witch Weekly_?'

'By Mia Daly?' another asked.

The first confirmed it.

'I feel a bit bad about it; they're just _people_! People _we_ know.'

'Oh, shush, Peggy—they weren't _hiding _it.'

Cordelia glanced at the Head Girl, who was too busy listening in to notice. Her quill was set down, in an almost permanent way. Barbara had forgotten her paper; it was a form for the docking of points in the House Cup, though it had been neglected after the removal of three points from Slytherin after a second-year was caught berating a young Hufflepuff in the halls. Barbara's attention was fully focused on the conversation ensuing between the fourth-years.

'Be quiet!' said the one named Peggy; 'she's right over there, with Cordelia.'

There was a moment of tittering when the young Ravenclaws noticed their housemate.

'Ooh! Did you see the article on she and Potter?'

'Which one?'

'_Exactly_!' the girl paused. 'It's too bad they'll be breaking up soon.'

Cordelia and Barbara looked at each other quizzically.

'He's leaving Hogwarts, isn't he? Nobody wants to stay with a _schoolgirl_. And it's not as though he's getting anything _special_ from her.'

The Head Girl raised her eyebrows, and Cordelia chewed her lip. They had just crossed into territory neither were too anxious to hear.

'That's unfair. She's a nice girl.'

'Aren't they both?'

'Yes,' said the first girl who had spoken, 'but really—"nice" doesn't cut it. Barbara Tennant has a better chance of marrying Fred Weasley than Cordelia Gilbert has of even _seeing_ James Potter after Hogwarts, and that's a fact.'

Barbara watched her companion stand quietly, and disappear into the shelves of books to their right. She re-emerged behind the group of Ravenclaw girls and edged up to them.

'Hi,' the sixth-year said kindly, 'I know you lot aren't really _meaning_ to be too loud, but my friend Barbara and I are trying to get our homework done, and I'm sure Madam Pince is around here somewhere, getting ready to kick somebody out of the library. Perhaps you five should just be a little quieter, all right?'

They all looked at her, gobsmacked. Peggy managed to nod.

'Thank you,' Cordelia acknowledged their cooperation and returned to Barbara, holding a copy of _Historically Significant Discoveries in Potions_.

The Head Girl grinned. 'If it doesn't work out with James, I'll give Fred six months and then run off with you, because that was kind of hot.'

The Ravenclaw rolled her eyes. 'Don't break up with your "best-friend-turned-something-more" for _my_ sake. Mia Daly would have a heart attack.'

* * *

_**March 7**_

* * *

'Oi!' Roxanne called across Gryffindor common room. 'Wood!'

The seventh-year in question looked up from his copy of the _Daily Prophet_. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and lessons had adjourned a little while prior. Wood and Roxanne were among the few in the common room.

'Yeah?'

'Are you the one who's been taking the piss out of Fred for being photographed in _Witch Weekly_?'

Roxanne strode over to him, sinking into the seat beside as Chris replied, 'I regret nothing. Why?' he asked. 'Are you going to punch me?'

The fifth-year smirked, quite surprised that he would come to that conclusion. Had she ever been hostile towards him? (There _had_ been that one time with a Bludger, but it wasn't intentional, and she was in second year!) 'I think there's been enough punching this year—nah, I wanted to tell you to keep it up. If it's just me, he won't be embarrassed.'

Wood nodded. 'So I'm to continue harassing Fred? With pleasure.'

* * *

'What,' Fred cried, 'is the _bloody problem_? So I snogged my girlfriend and _so_ a reporter took a picture—who the bloody hell _cares_?'

Perhaps he shouldn't have listened to Roxanne.

Christopher Wood played enough Quidditch to dodge the pillows being thrown at him; he caught one in his hand and looked at Fred, his expression sober.

He probably shouldn't have listened to Roxanne.

'I'm sorry,' he said sincerely. 'Roxanne and I thought it was funny.'

His roommate cursed. 'Of course Roxanne was in on this.'

Felix Thomas came in from his evening shower and looked at the two eighteen-year-olds. He paused in the drying of his hair. 'You guys all good?'

Wood and Fred both nodded.

Roxanne (who Chris certainly shouldn't have listened to, no matter how much he wished he could have) was going to have something to answer for.

* * *

_**March 8**_

* * *

Patricia cornered her Hufflepuff friend outside the Room of Requirement, after everyone else had gone. Only Scorpius lingered, and that was not by the choice of either girl. Both tried to ignore his presence.

'Do you fancy Albus?'

Andy almost spat out her butterbeer, which would have been a great shame due to the fact it was the last one Scorpius had in his possession. The Quidditch Captain clapped her on the back as she coughed and spluttered, practically choking.

'W-what?'

'Do you fancy him?'

Andy's eyes were wide. 'Albus? Do I fancy...?' She whispered these words to herself, as though thinking alone. 'No!' she scoffed. 'Of course not!'

Scorpius and Patricia raised their eyebrows at one another. The latter was silent, but the former smirked. 'You're _mad_ for him.'

Andy looked affronted. 'I am not!'

But Scorpius wouldn't have a bar of it.

'Don't lie to me!' he declared. 'You can't _stand_ being apart from him. You're insane—you fancy him something _mad_!'

Andy glared at him. 'I wouldn't take it that far, Malfoy.'

Patricia looked at the two of them. Andy, who fancied Albus, and Scorpius, who was trying to get the Gryffindor a girlfriend. It could go two ways: the fact that she had let him stay. Perhaps it would have been better to seek her out alone. But you could never be_ sure_...

'But do you?' asked Patricia. 'You do; don't you?'

Andy looked guilty. 'Please don't tell him,' she pleaded.

Scorpius crossed his finger over his heart. 'I wouldn't dream of it.'

'No,' Andy muttered, 'you'd do it.'

Patricia glanced at Scorpius. 'Don't,' she told him. 'I'll murder you if you do.'

'Is that all?'

'And I won't marry you at twenty-five.'

'You _promised_!'

'Screw "practicality".'

Scorpius sighed, folding his arms to show his annoyance. '...Fine.'

* * *

_**March 9**_

* * *

Wednesday was a lot of things. James Sirius Potter's eighteenth birthday was one of them. As you would expect, there was a wild party; only half of which the birthday celebrant was actually present for. (He had gone to play one-on-one Quidditch with his girlfriend.)

* * *

_**March 10**_

* * *

March 10 of 2023 wasn't a very _important_ day.

On the 10th of March, 2023, nine people were in love at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

By the 10th of March, _2024_—however—there would be only three and a half.

Partially because five in the number were gone, and partially because one who was still there simply didn't _want_ to be in love anymore.

(But two of the previous nine would be celebrating three months and seventeen days of having it cemented nonetheless.)

* * *

_**March 11**_

* * *

Lily rubbed her hands together at lunchtime on Friday.

'Right,' she said, then turned to Hugo. 'Which one of our relatives is having their birthday next? Because I'm quite keen on these parties.'

Her cousin thought about it. 'Al. He's May 3rd, isn't he?'

Lily nodded. 'Last term, we had Molly, Roxanne, Lucy; Fred was over the holidays, and then we've had you, Louis, Rose and James... oh, it _is_ just Al and me left, then.'

Hugo felt his role in the conversation was fulfilled and so he returned to his roast potatoes. Lily leaned over the table to her sixteen-year-old brother.

'You had better have a decent party for your birthday,' she told him. 'Because mine isn't until the day before exams start and I don't think it's going to be wise to celebrate then.'

Albus raised his eyebrows. 'What brought this on?'

Lily shrugged. 'James has good parties, yeah?'

Chuckling disbelievingly, the elder returned to his half-eaten steak pie and resumed conversation with Liz Pembridge on the possibility of her being placed on the Quidditch team the next year.

At Hufflepuff table, Jenna Fawcett was splitting her glances between Albus Potter, who was talking to that Pembridge bird, and her own sister, engaged in half-hearted conversation with Alice Longbottom about something related—without a doubt—to Herbology.

Albus Potter was less striking than his brother or sister, but by no means unattractive. His eyes extinguished him from his siblings: he alone had inherited the bright green eyes it was reported that their father had. The jet black hair, and its unintentional messiness, was true of both Potter boys, however Albus's flopped down more easily than James's did. Perhaps that was because the younger brother let his grow longer; the seventh-year's was quite far from reaching his collar, whereas Albus's brushed it on occasion. He also smiled a lot, which was a very good thing, and he seemed genuinely happy, which was even better.

Everybody deserved an Albus Potter in their life.

Andy Fawcett more so than anybody else.

Jenna could imagine the two of them walking down the halls of Hogwarts, the easy way Albus's hand would sling over her sister's shoulders. Andy's bushy hair was pulled into a large bun on the crown of her head today, and it appeared this way in the daydream, too. The two sixth-years, who were somehow older in Jenna's imagination, began to laugh at something.

What Jenna Fawcett would have given to be a Seer in that moment.

* * *

Victoire Lupin was hundreds of miles away from Hogwarts, unpacking the furniture that would soon occupy she and Teddy's new home. Their cramped apartment in London no longer fitted after the marriage; a proper house out of the bustling of the city suited the young couple much better.

She would miss the constant buzzing of the streets, the ridiculous clothing Muggle people wore to the shops, the way she could hear music and see history wherever she wanted. But she highly preferred privacy and serenity and Teddy to everything London offered. It wasn't as though she would be gone forever.

'Vic?' Teddy called, obviously bringing in more supplies for her to unpack in the living room.

She moved to the threshold of the house and addressed her husband—what a lovely word that was, and what a lovely person it related to—a tall, turquoise-haired man standing outside the house.

'What?'

'Where do you think we should put the photos—the family ones, the ones from the wedding...?'

'Oh,' said Victoire, surprised. She stepped out of the path of a box Teddy sent levitating through the front door. 'Er... how many are there?'

'That entire box.'

'That _entire_ box?'

He nodded. 'Well,' Teddy admitted, 'they're not all of us. We could always give the ones _not_ featuring us to the people who _are_ in them.'

Victoire inclined her head. 'That works.'

* * *

_**March 12**_

* * *

Many beautiful photographs graced the Owl Post that morning. Fred received one of him standing with Louis, laughing animatedly about something the other had said; another of him greeting the Crockfords as they arrived, and one of he and Barbara dancing together, with Albus looking pained in the background because he was being accosted by one of the French cousins.

Barbara received two herself: one as she sat with Cordelia, before the wedding even began, and another of her standing with Fred, their hands clasped together.

James—having been the Best Man—had eight of himself. There were three before Victoire came down the aisle, when he stood at the front with Teddy; there was one of him talking to his parents, one helping straighten out the groom's suit and grinning; two of him with Cordelia, one when they were dancing and one when they spoke in that flurry before the procession started. The last was a picture of his head emerging from behind the flower arrangements, looking very furtive and like he was somewhere he wasn't allowed.

Albus received three: a moment in which he spoke to Roxanne, one of him sitting in the second row beside Lily, and the final: a somewhat blurred photograph of him dashing across the dance-floor, eager to evade Louis's cousin Cecile.

Lily, Lucy and Hugo had one each; either in the audience of the wedding or at the party. Roxanne had one of her dancing with Chris Wood, who she had offered to accompany so that a French cousin _couldn't_, and one as she stood with Molly the Younger.

Molly was featured in four: two of which were behind-the-scenes, when she helped with baking and the delivery of Victoire's dress (a dangerous task); one she spoke to her parents in, and one showed her smiling as Victoire walked down the aisle.

Rose had two, as she spoke to Will—he had been courteous enough to go as her date—and when Dominique came over to question the both of them. It was quite funny: both Rose and Will looked terrified in the second one.

Since it was his sister's wedding, Louis had been a groomsman, and there were seven pictures of him: four standing beside James and Teddy in the procession, one as he danced unwillingly with a French friend, one as he and Albus ducked behind a barrel of butterbeer, and the last with his parents, Victoire, and Dominique for a proper family portrait.

Cordelia, too, received one photograph; she was dancing with James: his arms around her waist and hers around his neck. In it, they smiled like they were the only two people alive. Somehow, it didn't approve her mood. Perhaps she knew it was because they only had a few months left to enjoy their time together before it was undoubtedly coming to an end.

* * *

'That one's my favourite,' said Scorpius Malfoy, pointing to the picture of Albus running from Cecile and her friends. The Gryffindor chuckled.

Patricia began to shuffle through the photographs on the grass in front of her. There were ten in total, and they were Louis and Albus's share of their family's wedding pictures. She found one of Louis and Albus hiding and laughed aloud, tilting the image so that Andy—sitting behind her on a stray log—could see. The Hufflepuff chuckled.

Andy leaned forward and found one of Louis with James and Teddy. She looked at the fair-haired Gryffindor. 'That one's brilliant.'

They almost looked like a staircase: Louis, farthest right, was the shortest of the three; Teddy was on the other end and, though James was exceedingly tall, the groom had managed to outgrow him for the event. None of the three were looking at the camera, but all were smiling. The procession had probably begun, because Teddy's eyes were glinting in such a way that they looked almost as though he was crying. Perhaps he was. That would have been very lovely.

Albus picked up the picture of him talking to Lily. He was grateful that it was his sister to whom he was speaking. If it hadn't been a relative, Scorpius probably would have pounced upon the opportunity to set him up in a relationship with the other person in the photograph. It was strange —the Slytherin had somewhat desisted in his actions as "Thrower of Relationship Possibilities Into Albus's Face". For this, the Gryffindor was most grateful.

'I was looking at the one Cordelia got earlier,' said Patricia, jarring Albus from his thoughts. 'How is it she _always_ manages to look wonderful in photographs?'

'It's _Cordelia_,' Andy reasoned, almost a little bitter. 'She's wonderful in every aspect of life.'

Scorpius and Patricia exchanged a glance, which Albus really didn't understand; he hoped it wasn't about him. He didn't care if other people talked about his brother's girlfriend—well, he tried not to —and he didn't want her becoming a taboo subject just because he fancied her. (Sort of.)

Louis gathered up his seven photographs. 'I should go and put these in my trunk,' he said, standing. 'Mum will kill me if they're even _slightly_ damaged.'

'Oh,' Albus uttered, scrambling up. 'Me too.'

Andy looked at Patricia, who looked at Scorpius. Albus hated those covert glances. They plagued his mind as he and Louis hurried away, back to Gryffindor tower.

What _could_ those furtive regards mean?

* * *

'_...Love, love me do_...'

'You're obsessed with the Beatles.'

'..._You know I love you_...'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'_...I'll always be true_...'

Albus paused the song halfway through '_So ple—'_ and James sat up from where he had been lounging on his bed to protest. He opened his mouth, but the sixth-year spoke first.

'That song's as old as our grandparents.'

'It's like cheese,' James reasoned. 'Better with age!'

Albus rolled his eyes. He muttered: 'You're just sour because _I_'_m_ Paul.'

James grinned at his brother's good humour and he said, '_you_ weren't assassinated by a_ fan_.'

'And I was Knighted by the Queen.'

'Humble, humble.' Suddenly, James became very serious. Perhaps it was the turning off of the Beatles music, or perhaps it was simply the onslaught of a new train of thought. James could be terribly temperamental when he wanted to be. 'Look. Al. Er—do you... are—are you... are you over Cordelia?'

Albus, taken aback by the question, tripped over thin air. He looked at his brother and felt a mixture of uncomfortable, defiant and deeply anxious. 'Er—I'm trying to be.'

'Because, you know, I don't want to hurt you or anything. By being with her. Because you and I are _brothers_, and we're meant to be mates.'

Albus raised his eyebrows. 'You wouldn't dump her for me.'

The Head Boy looked as though he were trying to say otherwise, but finding it extremely difficult to lie. 'I... er...'

'James. Don't be thick. You're in love with her.'

The seventh-year tilted his head, nodding it even though he felt rotten for doing so. He really didn't want to hurt Albus. This was the problem with having a brother so close in age: if ever you fell for the same girl, things became... strained.

But Albus was trying to get over Cordelia. He had almost succeeded, by the look of things. It didn't really make James feel any better, because it had been his fault that she ever found out about the whole thing in the first place, but...

'Is there anyone else... sort of appealing?'

Albus groaned and sat down on the end of James's bed, facing the opposite way: the bathroom door, a poster of the Appleby Arrows Quidditch team, a set of drawers and the Head Boy's dressing table. 'You're almost as bad as Scorpius.'

James made a face. 'Shit; things must be damn awful if _I'm_being compared to _Malfoy_. What's he been doing?'

'Trying to set me up with people. He thinks I need a girlfriend.'

He could believe he was doing it, because it was with _Scorpius Malfoy_, but—

James agreed. (He had a lot of experience in this department, and so he was probably the best person to go to in times of need. His advice was _solid_. Most times. Sometimes. If he wasn't terribly distracted.)

If anything would get his brother's attention away from a girl, it was _another girl_. Who would be a good match for _Al_? Hm... none of the Gryffindor birds, and that was for sure. He wasn't keen on Albus going out with a Slytherin, so that left Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Ravenclaws were all mates with Cordelia, so perhaps that wasn't the _finest_ of ideas—but then again, this girl could be similar to Cordelia, because her traits were those liked by Al; as long as it wasn't _her_... Hufflepuffs weren't too bad, but James didn't really know any.

Except for that odd dessert bird: Andy Something.

But he wasn't forcing his brother into a relationship with someone who seemed more concerned with _cake_.

* * *

_**March 13**_

* * *

Sunday was not eventful in any sense of the word. James held a Gryffindor Quidditch practice, even though their games for the season were finished. It was probably because he wanted to be up in the air with his team again. He would most certainly miss them.

Gryffindor must have been feeling trusting, for they allowed even _Slytherins_ in to watch the practices if they wished. Scorpius and Patricia went; for about ten minutes, they pretended to heckle, but then got bored and sought out Andy's company, because she was sitting on the left side of the pitch with her sister, and looked very annoyed.

It was in this meeting that Scorpius and Jenna found out they shared the same interests: they wanted Albus and Andy together. The only difference in this was that the former was doing it for his Gryffindor friend's sake, and Jenna was more concentrating on what she thought was good for her sister.

(This didn't really matter. They were both meddling sods, where Andy was concerned.)

When Gryffindor was finished practicing, it was time for dinner, which everybody enjoyed. It was impossible not to. The Ravenclaw sixth-years had a conversation about the dangers of gobstones, and Shelley—though heartily disliked by the entire group, was allowed to take part for some reason—was particularly vocal about how annoying it was to have to wash the gunk out of her hair when the gobstones produced it.

Everybody went to bed reasonably happy on Sunday night, despite the fact it was Sunday. Perhaps being two weeks into March was lifting their spirits, but it was really unexplainable why. James stayed up quite late, not doing anything in particular, minus listening to the Beatles and thinking about life.

He wasn't particularly philosophical, but anyone becomes Bem—a legendary student of Hogwarts who was the only person in the history of the school to change houses from Gryffindor to Ravenclaw, and was now a world-renowned philosopher—if they're listening to good enough music and it's late enough at night.


	30. Back to the Beginning, of Sorts

**Disclaimer**: The world from which my story springs comes from the mind of J.K. Rowling.

**AN**: A massive thank-you to everybody who has waited for this chapter—it's finally here; amidst flights, volleyball training, dentist visits and returning to school, but here nonetheless! Who is your favourite character? I'd really like to know!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty**

"**Back to the Beginning, of Sorts"**

**Or**

"**We're all just trying to make it through."**

* * *

For James Potter, it was easy.

For Cordelia Gilbert, it was about to be explained.

For Scorpius Malfoy, it was also about to be explained.

For Patricia Day, this was the case.

For Barbara Tennant, it felt like one of her favourite things: sunshine.

For Fred Weasley, it was true.

For Hugo Weasley, it had never happened before. Perhaps it could.

But only some of that is getting covered now.

* * *

_**March 14**_

* * *

'Are you planning on sitting out here until the end of time?'

Hugo turned around, though he knew the voice immediately. Lucy was leaning against the entrance of the Gryffindor stands. It was Tuesday evening, around five o'clock, and Hugo had been—up until that moment—sitting alone, looking up at the Quidditch pitch, even though there was no practice going on.

'Not alone,' he said first. Then: 'And probably just until dinnertime.'

Lucy hopped over and came to a stop beside Hugo, where she set herself down. Her blue eyes, the exact same shade as his, searched her cousin's face; perhaps for the reason he had chosen to spend the hours between lessons and dinner alone, looking up at the Quidditch Pitch. She didn't understand what solace the place could possibly offer, for Lucy was more on the side of books and interiority. However, she found the cliché "to each, their own" coming to mind, and decided to let it settle.

'How are you?' she asked.

She wasn't sure why she said it, but the question just seemed like the correct one to ask.

'I'm...' Hugo sighed, his hands resting on his legs. 'I'm all right.'

'Been better?'

'Been worse.'

Lucy chuckled when he did.

Feeling the need to say something regarding their scenery, she asked, 'Are you going to try out for Keeper after Wood's gone?'

Hugo smiled. 'Yeah. I just hope I'll be good enough.'

'What are you talking about?' Lucy demanded, her eyebrows furrowing. 'You're fantastic. And your dad started playing Keeper in fifth year, didn't he? It's in your blood.'

He looked flattered. 'I just hope next year's captain thinks the same.'

Lucy smirked. 'You _do_ realize it's probably going to be Al next year, don't you? There's practically no contest!'

'I'd like to believe that.'

'Then why don't you?'

Hugo played Keeper at the Burrow in the holidays. He was brilliant, no matter what he thought. Even _James_ had failed against him a few times.

There was a sudden clap of thunder, and rain began to fall almost instantaneously. It was like a film, or a fairytale. Both fifteen-year-olds looked up at the deluge of drops. Simultaneously, the two stood. Hugo turned to Lucy, and Lucy turned to Hugo.

'Well, I don't take Divination,' said the boy, 'but I'll take that as an omen of bad luck.'

Lucy frowned. 'Don't be so pessimistic.'

'Why not?'

'That's meant to be the girl's job.'

* * *

_**March 15**_

(March 15, 2015)

* * *

It was yet another of those boring work gatherings his parents insisted upon holding, and nine-year-old Scorpius Malfoy had had just about enough of them. Draco agreed to host this one in particular, because he was trying to be courteous, and because Astoria was very vivacious when she wished to be. (It was she who had instilled the "we are _not_ Pureblood supremacists, Scorpius Hyperion!" values in him, when the boy's father slipped into an old habit.)

Everybody at these parties had cripplingly boring personalities and insisted upon conversing with Scorpius as though he had a very interesting life. He was, on the whole, sick of it.

At around six o'clock, Scorpius was conversing with a wizard named Graham Day, who had been in the year above Draco at Hogwarts and married a woman who was quite good friends with Astoria, when he was introduced to somebody who would, later, change the course of his life.

'You must get a bit bored of spending time with all these adults, Scorpius.'

Faking a smile and forcing a laugh, the nine-year-old made an non-committal response. Mr. Day continued.

'Well, I've actually brought my daughter tonight—she's around here somewhere with my wife...' Mr. Day's eyes, which had been searching the crowd for his family, turned back to Scorpius. 'I'll just go and find her. Could you wait a moment?'

'Sure.'

He didn't _want_ to wait a minute. He didn't _want_ to meet a girl. The girls he had met thus far in his life were people like Ruby Zabini or Caladora Goyle, and he didn't think they were very much fun. Girls liked... pink things, and dresses, and hosting parties; all of which Scorpius took much pride in _disliking_.

Mr. Day returned with his daughter: a somewhat plain girl, with dark hair and eyes. She was wearing a dress, to which Scorpius instantly thought himself superior, but it wasn't pink. Instead, dark green.

But it was frilly, so the green didn't count.

'This is Patricia,' said Mr. Day, his hand on his daughter's back as though trying to usher her forward.

Patricia smiled uncomfortably, and Scorpius returned the gesture.

'Patricia, this is Scorpius Malfoy—Astoria's his mother.'

The girl nodded again, then looked down at the frills on her dress. Scorpius realized, in a moment of surprise, that she disliked them just as much as he did. His respect for her grew minutely.

'Oh!' said Mr. Day suddenly. 'There's Blaise—Patricia, I've got to go and talk to Mr. Zabini; you'll be fine with Scorpius.'

He left them together. They were standing by a large window, over-looking the garden. Feeling awkward, Scorpius began to admire the view. Patricia didn't speak.

And then she did.

'No offence, or anything,' she said, 'but I'm finding this whole thing really boring.'

Despite himself, Scorpius laughed. 'Me too. I hate all of these parties.'

'I'm always forced to go to them,' Patricia complained.

He raised his eyebrows. 'How come I've never seen you, then?'

She shrugged. 'Boredom clouds the mind.'

There was a moment of silence before they both cracked up laughing.

'Did you really just say "boredom clouds the mind"?!'

'I don't know why, I promise, it just came out!'

They laughed for another minute or two and Scorpius decided that he liked Patricia. She wasn't like girls he knew: she didn't seem to like parties, or pink, or dresses.

Patricia Day was something else.

In the following two hours, they talked about pretty much anything that came to mind: how they disliked the parties, the anticipation of attending Hogwarts in two years, the music they liked. Patricia wasn't as plain as Scorpius had originally thought.

Mr. and Mrs. Day came over at eight o'clock and told their daughter that it was time for them to leave, which he was particularly unhappy about.

Long after they had gone, as Scorpius settled into bed that night, he couldn't help but remember something Patricia had said—'you're the first decent boy I've actually met at one of these. Congrats.'—and as it played, over and over in his mind, nine-year-old Scorpius Malfoy realized he was blushing.

* * *

_**March 16**_

* * *

Albus Potter couldn't sleep.

It should have been easy to: he had just finished a massive Charms assignment, and it was one o'clock in the morning, but his mind was wandering to things like the future of the universe, how temporary everything really was—those annoying, incessant topics that nag at you until you're totally awake.

Making an impulsive decision, he stood and crept out of the dormitory, past Louis's bed, through the door, and onto the stairs. He followed the trail on his tiptoes, careful not to wake up the seventh-years as he made his way up to the Head Boy's room. James would hate him for taking away "valuable sleeping time", but it was so late—or early? What _did_ you call those times, when you haven't slept but it's no longer technically "night"?—that Albus didn't care.

He knocked on the door, and there was a groan from within. He knocked again.

A loud scuffle later, James Potter emerged in the doorway: his hair messier than usual (a fact owed to sleep), no shirt in sight, and evidently groggy. When the Head Boy was finished rubbing his eyes and yawning, he glared at Albus.

'What?'

'I need the Invisibility Cloak.'

James checked his watch, then grumbled, 'it's one in the morning, Al. Where are you going?'

'Kitchens,' said the younger, making a split-second decision.

Opening the door wider, James ushered his brother inside. He picked up the Invisibility Cloak where it was lying on the dressing table and handed it to Albus. Thinking hard—that was how it looked, anyway—the Head Boy crossed the room to his trunk, from which he produced the Marauder's Map. This, too, he gave his brother.

'Don't get caught by Filch,' James advised tiredly.

'Have I ever?'

The older boy shook his head and directed Albus out the door. 'Get somebody to send me up a butterbeer, yeah?'

Albus nodded, muttered a quick "thanks" for the Map and the Cloak, and then left his brother to return to bed.

* * *

'I thought you'd be asleep.'

Andy turned so quickly that her knees almost gave out; her hand on the bench did nothing to steady the butterflies in her stomach. Albus was standing in the doorway of the kitchens, ignoring the various house-elves hurrying past him. His startlingly green eyes were focused on Andy's.

She coughed and redirected her attention, focusing on a piece of cake Seamy had left for her when he retired to bed. 'No,' she said, 'er—couldn't sleep.'

Out of her peripheral vision, Andy saw Albus nod. 'Me neither.'

He stepped closer, leaning against the other side of the bench. He was facing the opposite wall when he asked: 'Was it the Charms homework?'

'What?'

Andy hadn't been concentrating on the conversation: there were other, more nerve-wracking things on her mind. She mentally punished herself for being such an idiot as Albus recovered: 'The Charms homework.'

'Oh—yeah,' she lied. 'Frightful.'

She really hadn't been thinking about the Charms homework, or anything slightly related to it; she hadn't thought about it since about three days ago, and the notions haunting her thoughts were, these days, more about _him_. It seemed unfair that she couldn't even escape Albus in her waking hours, she was plagued enough in dreams. The one she suffered tonight, in the brief period of time she had slept between ten and twelve o'clock, had been about what happened if Albus were to find out she fancied him. Scorpius, Patricia and Jenna already knew. That was three people—two of which were very close to the object in question—it was almost too easy to let it slip out.

In Andy's dream, the Gryffindor had been firmly against the idea. He avoided her. She _hoped_ that Albus wouldn't do something like that if he ever found out. He seemed to kind for something so cruel. (But then again, blokes changed after they found out about things like this.)

'How long have you been down here?'

Albus really needed to stop asking her questions.

'Oh, not too long. What made you decide to pay a visit? You haven't been down here since...' _Since that night when you came late because you'd been with Cordelia_. '...Well, since before Christmas.'

Albus shrugged. 'It felt like the right place to go,' he said, picking up one of the three butterbeers Andy had set in front of her. 'You don't mind, do you?'

Another question! Despicable!

'No, of course not.'

He opened it quickly, and took a drink. Sighing, he set down the bottle.

'I can't imagine the N.E.W.T. workload compared to this.'

'Perhaps,' said Andy, though she wasn't sure what was making her say it, 'we should all just stop worrying about next year, and after Hogwarts. Focus on here and now, you know?'

Albus looked at her. His eyes were so green, so striking—she both loved when he looked at her and hated it. She hated hating it. Stupid Albus: giving her different bloody degrees of hate! She wasn't meant to feel like this, she was—_oh, shoot, Albus is speaking_.

'I wish I could. But, you know... it's just...'

Andy nodded. 'Too much has happened this year,' she muttered. 'Too much "bad".'

'Oh, I wouldn't say _that_...' Albus tried. 'There's got to be some "good", too. I mean, we're mates now, aren't we? And Scorpius and Patricia and Louis and everyone.'

And _not_ Cordelia, she noticed.

"Everyone" could have meant "Cordelia".

But he didn't _say_ that...

'I suppose.'

'Oh, you _suppose_? Would you rather have spent New Year's Eve with your _sister_?'

Andy rolled her eyes, bitter. 'I wouldn't spend _anything_ with Jenna.'

'Exactly. New Year's Eve was fun, wasn't it?'

'Why are you so determined to show me there's good in the world?' Andy asked slowly.

Albus shrugged. He probably thought nothing of what he was about to say, or the fact he was grinning when he said it: 'Because the best people in the world often think there isn't any.'

* * *

_**March 17**_

* * *

Many people do not believe in fate. Fred Weasley counted himself among them, up until three-forty-seven on Friday afternoon. He had just finished Transfiguration, but instead of accompanying his girlfriend and his cousins back to Gryffindor tower, where they would have undoubtedly begun to rant about the irritation History of Magic was known to put forth. It was an argument Fred had previously participated in with great enthusiasm, but for now, he just wanted a rest.

Instead of this alone time, however, he chose to pass down a corridor he did not often take.

Down this corridor, he found a very appalling sight.

Two Slytherin boys were jostling each other, laughing and pushing; and against the wall, there was a noticeably Gryffindor girl hovering, stationary. Fred couldn't see her face, but he had paid enough attention in Defence Against the Dark Arts to know what Unforgivable Curse had been performed on her.

'The "Imperius" is illegal, gentlemen,' he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

Both Slytherin boys dropped their wands in shock, and the cursed Gryffindor crumpled to the floor. Before Fred could register the pair's faces, they ran. Once they had rounded the opposite corner, he edged up to the girl lying on the ground. Her hair covered her face.

Slowly, as he stepped closer, she began to stir. And using one hand, she swept her hair aside to reveal a pain-stricken, terrified face. But no matter how surprised, how afraid she looked, there was no way Fred could have mistaken her.

'Elena?'

* * *

'Where is she?!'

Fred, who had just arrived at Gryffindor tower after taking his housemate to the infirmary, and was now briefing her friends on the events of the afternoon, whirled around to find Felix Thomas standing right behind him. 'What?'

'_Elena_,' he said urgently. 'Where _is_ she?!'

'S-she's in the hospital wing. But she's—'

Felix ran from where Fred, Wood and Molly stood, threw open the portrait hole and was gone before Fred could even say '—all right.'

Molly stared at the spot Felix had dashed from, as though she could see a dust trail. Wood and Fred looked at one another, both noticing the calculating expression on Molly's face. When they asked her what it was about, however, she simply sighed and said disdainfully, '_blokes are oblivious_.'

* * *

_**March 18**_

* * *

James Potter was handsome, of reasonably sound mind and an affinity for playing tricks, often at a Slytherin's expense. Exactly a year ago today, James Potter would have been dating a girl named Olive Riordan, who now ignored him when they passed each other in the halls. She was a Hufflepuff in his year, with bright blue eyes and blonde hair. In the one-and-a-half weeks they had been seeing each other, Olive had smiled a lot, and James had pretended to do the same.

It had been the following day when the latter ended their relationship.

Though he was not particularly bothered by Olive's cold shoulder, James _was_ surprised to find her up in the hospital wing when he went to see how Elena Finnigan was doing. It wasn't as though the Imperius Curse caused pain, like the Cruciatus did, but Madam Pomfrey had wanted to keep her patient in overnight to make sure that none of the seventh-year's mental health had been compromised.

Olive Riordan was sitting beside Elena, apparently speaking to her as she ate her breakfast.

'Anyway, Professor Barbery told me that you would be given an extension on the homework...'

Olive faded off as she and Elena noticed James's presence. He took in the silence a sense of opportunity, and stated, 'I just wanted to see how you were doing. Felix didn't say much when he got back last night.'

Elena nodded slowly. 'I'm fine—thankfully, those bastard Slytherins didn't make me do anything; Fred got there before they could, but... Merlin... if he hadn't...'

'Did you see who it was?' James demanded. 'Because if I know, I can—'

'—no,' Elena cut in. 'I didn't: they Confunded me. You're not the first to ask, James: Madam Pomfrey and Fred and Felix and pretty much everyone who's been to see me got there first. But no, I didn't see.'

Olive remained silent, though her eyes were raking over James with fervent dislike. He took this as his cue to leave.

'Listen—I've got to go, I have to finish the Charms homework, but I'm going to try to get to the bottom of this. You _do_ know they're taking fifty points from Slytherin for every hour that passes without a confession, right?'

'Perhaps it'd be better if you _didn't_ find out, then.'

James scrunched up his face. 'Rubbish. House points aren't as important as this.'

* * *

From left to right, that day in the library, sat James, Fred, Barbara and Molly; and the later two insisted upon being filled in with the latest of what news James had received in relation to Elena's well-being. He had told them that she was fine, that she would be out of the hospital wing by lunchtime (which was not something that Madam Pomfrey had told him, not the actual Gryffindor in question), and that she had no idea who had attacked her.

'Which is probably a good thing,' James finished, 'because they'd have me, Fred _and_ Felix after them, not to mention the best part of Gryffindor.'

'We'd join in with the pitchforks,' Molly muttered across Barbara and Fred.

The three of them tried to return to their Protean Charm essays as Madam Pince passed: Molly had it almost finished, Barbara beginning the conclusion, and Fred and James barely past the introduction because they just couldn't seem to concentrate. (And partially because they were lazy.)

'They were Slytherins,' Fred reiterated.

'Any idea what year they were in, though?'

'I couldn't see their faces, but they didn't look like some of our lot.'

Molly raised her eyebrows. 'Are we talking sixth-years? Fifth-years?'

'_Fifth-years_?' Barbara echoed incredulously. '_They _shouldn't know how to perform Unforgivables!'

'We did,' muttered James and Fred simultaneously. The girls looked at them with reprimanding expressions.

'What? We never _used_ them!' Fred defended. 'Merlin—who do you think we _are_?'

'Clearly a touch better than those Slytherins,' snapped Molly. 'The _nerve_ of them!'

Barbara contemplated this: just when things had begun to settle down, after Christmas, New Year's Eve and Day and the Lupin wedding, Cordelia's grandmother dying, that horrid Acromantula corpse, Shelley Corner breaking up two relationships in the space of half an hour... now _Elena_ had to be cursed? By an Unforgivable? Did Hogwarts ever cease in its dramatics?—Was it an eternal cycle of death and dating and dueling? She was grateful for the three months left until she was gone: gone from the halls, the towers, the turrets, the Quidditch Pitch. It felt strange knowing she would never be coming back.

'Barbs?'

Somebody was prodding her shoulder.

Barbara snapped back to attention: all other students were standing and packing up their things, it was almost lunchtime. It was Fred who had spoken, and he who had poked her. She looked at him and nodded slightly, to show she was back to normal.

The Head Girl did not take Care of Magical Creatures or Arithmancy, so she had no homework left to do for the rest of the day, but she was going to return to Gryffindor tower before lunch. Molly went off to the Great Hall and Fred and James headed down to the Quidditch Pitch to see if Madam Hooch had a class or not.

'Mind if I tag along?' asked Jess Thomas, catching up to Barbara as she rounded the corner away from the library. 'Assuming you're going back to Gryffindor tower?'

'That is the case.'

The two of them began the journey; first in silence, and then Jess brought up the topic of Elena, and the hospital wing. It had been all anyone spoke of last night, and right through that day—only Gryffindor seventh-years knew the whole story: that Elena had been attacked. Everybody else thought she had a severe cold and was ill. Well, minus the idiots who had accosted her.

Jess had found out about her best friend from Fred, but her twin brother had already arrived when she made her way to the hospital wing. Felix was practically interrogating Elena when Jess walked in—'who did this to you?!', 'are you all right?!', '_you don't know?!_'—and he had stayed there long after Jess left. Upon Barbara's asking, however, she simply said: 'what? Nah, I don't think Felix fancies Elena.'

Evidently, twin sisters could be just as naïve as their counterparts.

* * *

_**March 19 & 20**_

* * *

_Mum,_

_I'm sorry for taking so long to reply. Things have been hectic, to say the least. I went to Slughorn's Party, which was absolutely frightful. I felt completely alone, regardless of the fact Lucy and pretty much the entire family was there with me, and the dessert wasn't even good this time. Apart from that, there was Valentine's Day—bust—and the year's last Quidditch match—what I'll actually be talking about._

_ I scored a couple of goals, got fouled and then a penalty; Al scored one or two, and James scored one—but with his eyes closed, dangling from his broom—you know what James is like! It feels so strange knowing that I'll never play Hogwarts Quidditch with him or Fred or Barbara or Wood again..._

_ I really, really can't wait for this school year to be over. I mean, I know there'll be a massive workload with O.W.L.s and everything, but at least I'll be in fifth year. And I could play Seeker! That will be exciting. And James won't be around to annoy me—Al still will be, but he's not nearly as bad._

_ Fred and Molly won't be around, either, so it'll just be me, Al, Louis, Rose, Roxanne, Lucy and Hugo. Which still seems like a lot, but really, it will be a massive change._

_ Oh, Lucy's telling me it's time for dinner—_

_Love you, Mum,_

_Lily_

* * *

Sundays were spent in laze, with a lethargic, somewhat sloth manner. It reached seven o'clock: dinner was spent, and everybody returned slowly to their common rooms. Scorpius was suffering a severe case of the "please-don't-let-it-be-Monday-tomorrow-I-don't-want-to-go-to-lessons" disease that tends to plague even the best of students, and for once, he retired to his dormitory without pressing if Patricia needed help finishing an assignment.

Nott was inside, reading the _Prophet_ on his four-poster. He looked a bit annoyed that his solitude had been disturbed, but said nothing. Scorpius passed through the dimly-lit room to his bed on the opposite side and extracted from his chest of drawers the necessary toiletries and pajamas before heading into the bathroom.

In the time after he washed his face and brushed his teeth, before changing into the pair of green flannels, Scorpius observed himself in the mirror above the sink. He and Albus stood at the same height, though they were complete polar opposites from that point onward: the Slytherin had platinum blond hair and icy-looking eyes that seemed to switch from green to grey with the seasons. His features were defined, in such a way that they could switch from a grin to a sneer at the drop of a hat. There was a dot of toothpaste in the corner of his mouth, which the Prefect wiped away with the back of his hand.

Scorpius decided to stop brooding and change into his pajamas.

As he pulled on an old Quidditch t-shirt, there was a knock on the door; when he opened it, Dylan McCormick's face appeared almost level with his.

'All yours,' said Scorpius, stepping aside with the intention of letting McCormick enter.

Instead, the other shook his head. 'No—I actually wanted to talk to you.'

They hadn't spoken about anything that wasn't Quidditch since about Christmas, so Scorpius allowed this. A part of him was interested to see what possessed McCormick to seek out his company, when Nott (to whom Dylan was much closer) was also in the room.

Really, in retrospect, Scorpius should've known.

'Venice.'

Unsure how to proceed, the Prefect asked, 'what about her?'

'I—I messed up.'

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. 'Well, no shit.'

'I mean—you're the only bloke in here with a girlfriend... how do you, uh...'

'How do you convince them you're done being an arse?'

McCormick breathed out: he had obviously not expected Scorpius to be so upfront about the conversation. 'Yeah.'

'Well, young one,' Scorpius began wisely, leaning back on the sink, for they were having this entire heart-to-heart in the bathroom so that the other boys couldn't hear, 'I'm _not_ an arse to girls, so I kind of can't help you.'

He moved to leave, but McCormick caught his arm. 'I wasn't an arse to Venice—not really. I just...'

'Slept with Shelley Corner.'

'Yeah.'

'Well, first, you shouldn't be such an awkward prick every time you're around her. The two of you are avoiding each other and it's so uncomfortable that even the _rest_ of us feel it. And I'm not just talking Slytherin, I'm talking "Albus Potter thinks you two are more discombobulated than two priests in the middle of a strip club in Amsterdam's red-light district".'

* * *

'I'm over him.'

The other three stared at her: Kathryn paused in the application of eye-shadow (which was probably for the best, because the shade of indigo was so plentifully spread that she looked like an overdressed clown), Ruby dropped her quill and Patricia, who had just opened the door from the bathroom, almost slipped on a tile.

'What?' she asked, recovering. Nobody seemed to think their ears had been working properly.

'I'm over him.'

Venice folded her arms and stared over at them all, daring them to challenge her. Instead, Ruby sighed.

'Well, that's a relief. I'm sick of hearing you whine.'

Patricia, who was closest, slapped Ruby warningly. She looked at Venice. 'A-are you sure?'

She nodded. 'I've wasted too much time on this bloke: he was insensitive, annoying, and a terrible kisser.'

Kathryn muttered something that sounded like 'about time'.

And, for once, she was right. Venice had spent months regretting her decision, but that was purely because Dylan was going out with Shelley Corner, and he had managed to hold _her_—regardless of how the "relationship" had ended—and, really, those hadn't been the finest moments of Venice Higgs's life: the groaning and feeling insecure and getting _kicked off the bloody sodding Quidditch team_. She was better than all of that.

And she was better than Dylan McCormick.

* * *

_**March 21**_

* * *

'Al,' Rose chided, watching her cousin as he continued to sketch little swirls into the margins of what should have been his Arithmancy assignment. 'You're not paying attention.'

'I would be,' he said; his green eyes stayed on the parchment, 'if you and Lou weren't bickering about whatever-it-is.'

'Quidditch,' Louis supplied. 'What are you, Al? Holyhead Harpies or Montrose Magpies?'

The younger elected not to answer, and Louis continued the conversation with no one in particular. 'Well, personally, I'm going for the Magpies, because they were the best team in Britain for _ages_—they've won the Cup thirty-two times—they'd still _be_ the best if the Arrows hadn't stolen their title. Mind you, they probably shouldn't have retired Whitley, because he was their best Chaser, but...'

At this point in time, it became apparent that nobody was listening.

* * *

Slughorn's dinner party was boring for all those involved. The highlight of the evening was first-year Charlie Mumps lighting the chandelier on fire, but that may have been accidental. Halfway through, Fred pretended he had a sore stomach, and so James and Barbara offered to leave with him. Cordelia, who did not wish to stay in the company of the current ex-Auror with whom she was speaking, followed along.

A couple of Ministry workers were there, and so the other sixth-years decided to schmooze their way through _those_ conversations, after which Scorpius, Patricia, Albus and Andy dashed off to the Room of Requirement. (Louis followed later, after he had finished chatting up a young _Prophet_ columnist.)

* * *

_**March 22**_

* * *

There was something of a transient feeling in the air the next day. This could have been a fact solely attributed to the day of the week being Wednesday, but whatever the reason, Cordelia saw fit to be nostalgic. She was sitting on the middle of her broomstick—the newest model of the long-standing Nimbus company—and observing her team as they ran plays.

Four years ago she would have been attending a similar practice in preparation for Ravenclaw's game against the robust Gryffindor house; a match in which she was first introduced to the ever-important and _ever_-egotistical James Sirius Potter.

* * *

_Friday, March 22, 2019_

* * *

Cordelia Gilbert was twelve years old and utterly terrified. She had played Quidditch before, but this was an immensely important match: it would, without a doubt, decide the Quidditch Cup's winning house. Gryffindor had won the previous year, coping with their losses of old players with the addition of a boy named James Potter, whose parents were both very famous and who made Cordelia moderately star-struck. It wasn't as though he'd done anything spectacular himself—minus the seven-hundred-and-twenty points he had gained Gryffindor house in the season prior—so she knew she shouldn't have been feeling this way. It was impractical. It was illogical.

It was inevitable.

James Potter was obviously popular; he had just turned fourteen and already had a very pretty girlfriend. His brother, Albus, was in Cordelia's year; Albus was also on the team, but he wasn't nearly as intimidating as James, for Cordelia knew him to be quite nice.

The other Chasers on the Ravenclaw team had told Cordelia not to worry: they were fourth-year Peter Davies and sixth-year Amy MacFarlan, and both had been on the team for at least two years. They had played James Potter, and told their third counterpart that she had nothing to fear.

'He's a horrible showboat,' said Peter, whose sister was a friend of Cordelia's. 'All he cares about is proving to everybody how good he is.'

'I bet he'll be more focused on giving his new girlfriend a shout-out during the match—the two of them were practically snogging in the middle of the Great Hall yesterday,' Amy put in distastefully.

'Oh, yes; he's going out with that Emmy Brand girl, isn't he?'

Judging from the looks on their faces, Peter and Amy knew this to be true. Emmy Brand was a Hufflepuff girl with brown hair, grey eyes and rosy cheeks Cordelia attributed less to genetics and more to a skillfully-applied blusher. She, too, had seen James and Emmy together, and it was not a pretty sight. She certainly hoped Albus didn't turn out that way—he seemed so kind!

Perhaps James was kind.

'Don't dwell on it, though,' said Amy. 'He's not as good as he thinks he is.'

_No_, thought Cordelia, who had seen him play; _he's better_.

'Come on,' Peter muttered. 'If we haven't got at least ten Quaffles past Bowen before our good old Captain's back, he'll have our heads.'

* * *

After practice that evening, Cordelia headed to dinner. She was the last out of the changing room: Peter had gone ahead with the two Beaters, Amy with the Captain and Seeker (who she also happened to be dating); but thankfully, Will Bowen had waited for his final teammate to regain the ability to move before accompanying her to the Great Hall.

'Is Potter really as terrifying to play as everyone says he is?' asked the second-year.

Will shrugged. 'He's gotten past me tons of times, so it's—wait, I assume you're talking about James?'

Cordelia nodded. 'Uh-huh; Potter the Elder.' She paused, thinking about what she wanted to say next. 'He's in your year, isn't he?'

'Yeah, and he's just as brilliant in class as he is at Quidditch.'

Chuckling, Cordelia joked, 'you're not jealous of him, are you?'

Will raised an eyebrow, then looked at his companion as though she may have been intoxicated. 'I certainly don't envy him his status, and I most _definitely_ do not envy him his girlfriend.'

'Bimbo?'

'Oh, yeah,' Will said, nodding passionately; 'the _queen _of them.'

They entered the Entrance Hall and continued their conversation.

'So Potter the Elder is nothing to be wary of?'

'Oh, hell,' Will disagreed, 'he's _definitely_ something to worry about, James is; but not as much as you'd let yourself think.'

'Wow, Bowen, that's a real wound to my self-esteem.'

This was a new voice: Cordelia and Will both turned and, of course, they found themselves face to face with the messy-haired James Potter. He was grinning, with folded arms, and the first thing that came to young Miss Gilbert's mind was that he was quite attractive _indeed_.

'I don't know, Potter; your ego seems too vast to deflate.'

'That hurts,' said the Gryffindor, in the same coy tone.

James Potter was certainly _not_ kind. Cocky, but not kind.

He seemed to notice Cordelia's presence for the first time, and she did her best not to crumble under pressure. No, this would not be a good time to stutter.

'I take it you're Cordelia Gilbert?'

Nodding: 'That's right.'

Potter extended a hand, which Cordelia did not take immediately. 'I'm James Potter—but I'm pretty sure you already knew that.' He flashed her a grin as she shook his hand fleetingly. 'Nice scoring against Urquhart in that Slytherin match; I was certainly impressed.'

Bitingly sarcastic, Cordelia replied, 'well, you know me, I spend hours at night hoping and praying that I'll do something to show you I'm worthy.'

Will chuckled, and James looked momentarily surprised. He quickly regained composure and raised his eyebrows in a way that made Cordelia sure he'd practiced it to perfection.

'Well, Gilbert, I look forward to playing you.'

Smirking, Cordelia muttered, 'only in terms of Quidditch,' before turning and taking Will with her.

She didn't notice that James Potter had a different kind of smile on his face just then, or that he appeared to be thinking fast. Even if she had, the process would have been slammed to a halt by the arrival of Emmy Brand and her very rosy cheeks.

* * *

_Monday, March 22, 2023_

(The Present)

* * *

Cordelia noticed that night had fallen, and she signaled for her players to retire to the changing rooms. She missed being twelve; she missed the time before James, and all the naivety it offered; she missed Peter Davies and she missed Amy MacFarlan.

But she didn't miss Emmy Brand's perpetual blush.

* * *

_**March 23**_

* * *

Over breakfast on Thursday morning: 'So you're okay?'

Elena rolled her eyes. 'Yes, Felix, for the seven-hundred-and-ninety-sixth time, I am fine.'

Felix's dark eyes trailed over her, and the look in them told Elena that he still thought she was lying. She wished he didn't. She wished she knew why he cared so much, and she wished that it was for the reason that she wanted it to be.

No, that wasn't it. He probably felt guilty. Her father had trusted him to keep her safe—though this wasn't a binding agreement, and it was certainly not a really serious one—and Felix probably felt as though he had failed Elena. Which she didn't want either way. She didn't want Felix feeling like this was his fault.

It was _Elena_ who had gone down that corridor by herself; who had forgotten the incantation of a Shield Charm in the split second of shock before the Confundus Charm struck her; _she_ had been under influence of the Imperius, not Felix.

None of this was Felix's fault.

'I'm sorry for dogging you like this,' he said, sounding sincere. 'I just—you know—it's the _Imperius_ curse. It's unforgivable.'

'You know, I may have heard that somewhere before, actually.'

It was Felix's turn to roll his eyes. 'Don't do that. Don't turn this into a joke.'

'Felix...'

Jess slid up the table. She had been originally sitting with Molly, but now, looking at her brother, she held the expression of a person giving advice.

'You don't _really_ need to bother her, do you?'

Felix glared at her. 'I'm not bothering Elena. I'm trying to show that I _care_, which is more than I can say for you.'

'What's _that_ supposed to mean, Felix?'

'Oh, I don't know,' he said hotly, 'perhaps making a trip up to the hospital wing after your _best friend _has just been put under'—his voice lowered—'the Imperius! There's a thought.'

The twins were engaged in such a hot debate that neither noticed Elena blushing. She was usually better at hiding it than this: her flattery. But by the time the argument subsided, Felix was swearing and moving over to sit with Wood, Roxanne and Quentin Embry, and Jess was distracted by the arrival of the post.

* * *

'Anything interesting?' asked Roxanne, leaning over to see the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ Wood had in his hands. He shrugged and handed it to her.

Quentin and Felix exchanged knowing looks as Roxanne flipped through the pages until she found the results of the previous weekend's Quidditch game. The other three jumped slightly as her hand slapped down on the table, followed by an indignant cry.

'Damn you, Chris!' Roxanne said angrily.

'What'd I do?'

'Not you,' she groaned, 'the Wasps beat the Kestrels.'

Wood grinned. 'That's two galleons, thanks.'

Roxanne cursed under her breath. 'I'll give you them later, they're up in my trunk.'

'I'll hold you to it.'

Quentin and Felix turned, once again, to each other; and two silent agreements passed between them. The first: never bet on Quidditch, and the second: the two students sitting opposite them were possibly the most oblivious people in the entirety of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

* * *

_**March 24**_

* * *

Tabitha Perkins was known for being invisible, which seemed like a contradiction to her. But apart from being shy, Tabitha also had a variety of other characteristics going for her: she had a photographic memory, no idea that she really wasn't as unfortunate-looking as she thought she was, and—above all—Tabitha Perkins was observant.

After being in the same Care of Magical Creatures class for almost three years, she knew that Louis Weasley liked animals. He preferred Blast-Ended Skrewts to Flobberworms, and his Niffler had tried to steal Sarah Boot's bracelet when they had studied those particular creatures. He was also the only Weasley without red hair, if you didn't count James or Albus. He didn't wear a watch to lessons, but he wore one to Quidditch games.

Tabitha Perkins had a photographic memory.

At lunch, she overheard Cordelia Gilbert and Bridget Davies talking about her as they entered the Great Hall. They said nice things—that she had eyes the former was jealous of, and a thin face the latter wished was hers. When Tabitha passed Connor Wilson on the way down Ravenclaw table, he smiled at her. She didn't like Connor Wilson, though; he seemed nice enough, but after he tried to kiss Cordelia with no premeditated relationship, Tabitha was not keen on him. It simply couldn't be helped.

Tabitha Perkins had no idea that she really wasn't as unfortunate-looking as she thought she was.

Tabitha Perkins certainly _was_ observant, but if you have read anything I've ever written, you'll know I'll get to that (much, much) later.

* * *

_**March 25**_

* * *

'_Hey, Jude_... _don't make it bad_...'

James's music was up loud tonight, Barbara thought. Louder than usual.

'_...take a sad song and make it better_...'

She couldn't usually hear the lyrics perfectly; words were often muffled by the several layers of stone, but she could hear them clearly now.

_'...remember, to let her into your heart..._'

Surely James knew a charm that could have prevented anybody out of his vicinity from being disturbed by the music. He knew all kinds of strange incantations the Head Girl didn't. She ignored this, and went to brush her teeth. When she exited the bathroom, the same song was playing.

'_...Na, na, na, nana, nana_...'

Tonight, Barbara wasn't bothered by the Beatles. She was in too good a mood not to stand up as the anthem began to sound; the magnificent sound of the chorus overtook all pretense and it was almost an unconscious choice to begin swaying, then dancing, then hoping James would continue with just as good a song.

The lyrics began to trail off, and the melody faded with them. Next, the Beatles began to sing about a man named Jojo; it seemed like a good song to exercise to, which made her wonder if that was what James was doing, in his respective dormitory. Barbara began to dance around as the name Loretta replaced that of Jojo.

Too soon, that song also finished. The next was—if her memory served correctly—"The ballad of John and Yoko". Before Barbara had the chance to get into the music, there was a knock on her door.

'Rose?'

The sixth-year blushed. 'You don't mind, do you?'

Barbara shook her head. 'No, of course not—is it Lottie? Did something happen?'

'No,' said Rose. 'No, it's not Lottie; she's fine. I just... well, I wanted to come and talk to you. Is that okay?'

The Head Girl spared a look around her bedroom, hoping there was not an unlaundered t-shirt lying around or something equally as incriminating, then said, 'yes, of course—come on in.'

The two of them sat down on Barbara's bed.

The seventh-year noticed her companion's expression and smiled. 'You'd probably like to be up here next year, wouldn't you?'

Rose nodded. 'But I'm worried that I won't get the position because I'm not well-rounded enough.'

Barbara looked surprised. 'Rose—have you _looked_ at yourself? You're like, the most well-rounded person Hogwarts has ever seen!'

'Academically, maybe; but I don't play Quidditch,' said Rose bitterly.

'Well,' said the elder, 'the only person who can do both of those is Cordelia Gilbert and she's completely and utterly insane—league of her own.'

Rose frowned. 'That's what I'm worried about.'

'Don't be,' Barbara reassured her. 'You've got just as much a chance as Cordelia of getting Head Girl.'

'No, I don't—I'm James's cousin, and who in their right mind would ever make two people of the same family Heads right after each other? That's unfair by morality.'

Barbara smiled. 'Since when has Hogwarts done anything in their "right mind"? I'd say the whole establishment runs on their "left" myself. I mean, look at me, for example! Head Girl! How?!'

Rose rolled her eyes. She evidently did not think the same as Barbara did. 'You seriously don't see yourself, do you?'

'See what?'

'Oh... Merlin —keep in mind that I'm not just saying this to flatter you—'

Lies. Why else would someone like Rose say whatever it was she was about to, if there wasn't some other ulterior motive? Rose was too nice.

'—or because I feel like I should—'

Another valid reason.

'—but you must be really blind.'

_I did have glasses up until fourth year._

'If you saw what everybody else does when they see you, you'd understand.'

'Understand what?'

'Merlin, Barbara—'

Then she began to list very flattering untruths, and the Head Girl wondered why it was that Rose had come to see her in the first place.

* * *

_**March 26 & 27**_

* * *

It was a very mundane two days. Sunday and Monday were filled with work, in the case of N.E.W.T. students; marginally less work in the case of the O.W.L. students; and practically deserted halls for the rest of the school.

* * *

_**March 28, 29 & 30**_

* * *

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday—

Each day as boring as the next.

* * *

_**March 31**_

* * *

On Friday night, seven students fell asleep inside the Room of Requirement: two Gryffindors, three Slytherins, a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw. (Though not in that order.)

It began, Albus would later try to decide, when he and Cordelia ran into each other on the third floor. The conversation began somewhat awkwardly, but pretty soon it was almost back to old times. Or, rather, as close to "old times" as things could get. Both were on their way to "Rory", anyway, for Scorpius had called a gathering.

The Slytherin male would argue that this was not the case, that it began with him getting his hands on butterbeer. And many others would argue many other cases but, no matter how the whole thing began, seven sixth-years fell asleep in the Room of Requirement and woke up there the next morning.

Around eight o'clock, they assembled.

Around nine o'clock, conversation started to move into the paradoxical territory.

Around ten o'clock, all the butterbeers were finished.

Around eleven o'clock, Louis fell asleep.

Around twelve o'clock, Scorpius, Patricia and Andy joined him.

Around one o'clock, Ruby had gone to sleep simply because she had nothing better to do.

Around two o'clock, Cordelia and Albus finally decided they were being absurd. Though it did take a while to stop mocking James's drinking tolerance. (This coming from two people who rarely drank.)

* * *

_**April 1**_

* * *

**(Help!)**

He really should've known. April Fool's Day, a celebrated occasion even among the wizard population. Each year—thanks to James and Fred—something big happened. Or, rather, a series of little things leading up to a tumultuous main event.

But due to the fact that Albus had been the first to wake up in his dormitory, he was also the first to open the exit door. Now he found himself soaked in green gunk; he could feel it slipping into his shoes, pooling at his feet. His hands reached up to wipe it away from his eyes, and once they opened, Albus was glaring. He tried to shake the slime out of his hair —it looked just like the sap that shot out of gobstones during the game—before stomping upstairs to the Head Boy's room.

Rapping on the door with his knuckles, Albus shouted, 'Not funny, James! Open up!'

'On the contrary,' said James, leaning against the wall behind his brother, arms crossed, 'I find it _extremely_ funny.'

Albus took out his wand and began Vanishing the green goo. James looked on with a smirk.

'I take it this is the first of many April Fool's jokes?'

'Oh, yes. We did the same thing to all the other dormitories, including our own. Needless to say, I don't think Quentin will be very happy with me.'

Finally free of gunk, Albus pushed past his brother on the way down to the common room.

'Don't be bitter, Peps!'

Albus rolled his eyes, muttering, 'wouldn't dream of it.'

* * *

**(Mean)**

'Tell me you did this!'

Fred skirted around the edition of _Witch Weekly_ currently shoved in his face and asked Barbara, 'did what?'

She flipped hurriedly through the pages, angry and flustered. At last, finding the desired article, she flung the magazine at him.

_**IS TENNANT FOR REAL OR FOR "DEAL"?**_

**By Lucinda Henley**

Everybody knows the adorable love story between Fred Weasley and his girlfriend of (roughly) four months, Barbara Tennant. We all _know_ that they've been best friends since first year. But the "best friends turned into something more" is always such a cliché—how do we know it's the real deal this time?

That's funny: real and deal, two things crucial to this case. "Real": are they honestly happy together? "Deal": is this a press story, a cover-up, a scam? Oh, they think they've bested us, but that is _not_ the case.

Barbara Tennant has always been a footnote on Fred's radar, but never a big notice until recently. Why _is_ that? Perhaps Weasley was afraid of his cousin James stealing the spotlight with his girlfriend, and who better to help him out with this than long-time friend, Head Girl and Gryffindor Seeker, _Barbara Tennant_?

I mean, we hope it's the real thing, but if it's not... well, let's just say we thought better of a Head Girl.

Fred's jaw fell open. 'Barbs, I...'

'So this is real? The whole of Britain's readers think we're just a scam? They think I'm at fault?!'

Trying to lighten the mood, Fred quipped, 'only those who read _Witch Weekly_.'

Barbara looked annoyed. 'Don't try to make me feel better,' she snapped, 'no with any kind of humour—because it's the wrong day for that—I've woken up to my room trashed, which I assume was some kind of prank by other Gryffindors, and none of my clothes fitted with my robes and now I've had to come down here and have Molly hand me this like a death warrant and holy _shit_, now I know why!'

Fred backtracked. 'Okay, okay, I'm sorry.'

It didn't seem like his apology she wanted, though; really.

* * *

**(Tubthumping)**

Scorpius cursed. The whole of Hogwarts was booby-trapped, and part of him wondered when anybody had time to set them up. He was currently sprawled on the floor of the library; it was lunchtime, and as Madam Pince made to glare at him, Albus hauled him off the ground.

It was a tripping jinx on the door, obviously. A couple of second-year boys snickered and received glares from both Prefects, as well as a reprimanding look from Rose, who was passing rather quickly.

'Smooth,' Albus smirked.

'Shut up!'

Testament to karma, the Gryffindor slipped on the end of his robes as the duo made their way down the stairs.

* * *

**(Heavy Tonight)**

Patricia Day was good at avoiding tricks and public embarrassment. It was usually because she was equally talented at fading into the background and being non-confrontational, but since it was April Fool's Day, she wanted to have a bit of fun.

Spotting Cordelia Gilbert in the entrance hall as she left lunch, a plan boiled into existence in Patricia's mind. She sidled up to her friend, looking upset—which was, of course, received perfectly.

'Oh, God—Patricia, are you all right?'

Shaking her head timidly, Patricia stuttered, 'I-I just...' Her voice lowered to a whisper and her friend looked even more concerned. 'I—Scorpius and I j-just broke... broke up.'

Cordelia's face fell. 'Oh... oh, Patricia... are—are you okay?'

Then realization began to form on the Ravenclaw's face.

'Yes, you are,' she said, 'because it's April Fool's Day. Damn it.'

Patricia began to laugh and Cordelia rolled her eyes. 'You _were_ pretty convincing—my heart broke just _looking_ at you... don't tell James, he's been trying to fool me all day, with little things...'

* * *

_**April 2**_

* * *

The day following April Fool's Day was a Sunday, with lots of homework and tenuousness in the process. The most interesting thing that happened on this fateful Sunday was Lily getting fully dressed and halfway to breakfast before realizing her robes were inside-out. (So, yeah, not the most historically mind-blowing of Sundays.)

* * *

_**April 3, 4 & 5**_

* * *

_Dear Victoire,_

_It's not that this is a chore, but I'm really just doing this because you asked me to keep in touch. If you must, show this to mum and Dom as well so that they don't feel left out._

_ Okay, where to start..._

_ Well, April Fool's Day was the usual. Tricks everywhere; I was fooled just about four times, but don't laugh! At least I didn't get stuck in the trick step between floors two and three from breakfast until dinner like Gordon Rourke did. He's a massive twat; thank Merlin he's a seventh-year._

_ And the day after April Fool's was... well, the day after April Fool's is never really the most interesting of days, is it? It's like that extra day in February on a leap year, but not as exciting: just sort of there. You know?_

_ Anyway, I spent Monday night finishing this tedious Care of Magical Creatures assignment in the Room of Requirement, which was a total mistake. It's not easy to concentrate when you keep the company I do._

* * *

'Oi! Keep it down! Some of us are _trying_ to finish homework,' Louis reminded, picking up his half-completed assignment and showing it to them all.

Cordelia and Andy, who had been playing Exploding Snap, looked guilty and began to pack up their game. Albus had just finished the assignment in question, and was exceedingly triumphant because of it, threw his cousin an apologetic glance. Scorpius, however, scowled.

'What would you rather we do?' he asked bitterly. 'Go have a snog in the corner?'

Patricia rolled her eyes, and Louis shrugged. 'Whatever you end up doing, could it _not_ be so loud?'

'Hey,' said Andy, who did not want to cease her game of Exploding Snap, 'if you want "quiet", go to the library.'

Groaning, Louis returned to his homework.

* * *

_Seriously. It's one of the strangest, rowdiest collections of people one can possibly encounter. When would you ever have thought Al and I would be mates with Scorpius Malfoy? Granted, stranger things have happened._

_ James holding a girlfriend for more than three weeks, for example. (But they do seem happy, so I'm proud of the guy.)_

* * *

The Great Hall was crowded, what with all the students leaving the area for their common rooms. Somehow, Louis noticed, James had managed to squeeze in beside his girlfriend and the two of them were happily chatting away about something that both found interesting.

He nudged Al. 'Two Sickles they're talking Quidditch.'

His cousin turned in the direction Louis indicated and shrugged. 'I'll bite.'

* * *

Five minutes later, they were up in Gryffindor common room: Albus and Louis crossed the space to James, who was heading up to his room.

'James!'

He span around. 'Yes, my dear relatives?'

'We've got a bet on,' said Albus. 'And—'

'—I wouldn't have thought you the betting type, Peps; perhaps you _are_ my brother, after all.'

'Shut up,' Albus snapped. 'Anyway—we've got a bet on: what were you and Cordelia talking about as you left the Great Hall?'

The Head Boy looked from Louis to Albus, folding his arms and leaning against the wall of the entrance to the dormitories.

'How much are you betting?'

'Two Sickles,' said Louis.

James shrugged. 'N.E.W.T. level Defence—Patronuses, basically.'

The blond groaned and Albus punched the air. He turned to his cousin. 'I'll have those two Sickles, thanks.'

Louis dug around in his pockets begrudgingly before relinquishing the silver coins. James had raised eyebrows when their attention returned briefly to him.

'Wow—I thought I was surprised when I found out about Al betting, but Al _winning_ a bet? That's even more shocking.'

'Well,' Louis told him, 'I said the two of you were probably talking about Quidditch, and Al won the bet if you weren't.'

'Ah,' said James, half-turning back up the stairs. 'That makes a _lot_ more sense—here I was thinking we had a Seer in the family,' he added in funny impersonation of Professor Trelawney.

Louis saw Albus roll his eyes.

* * *

_Other than that, I've been trying to concentrate in school—and before Teddy asks, no, I haven't got a girlfriend yet. Shut up. I can tell he's laughing. Anyway, things are just nice and chilled out at the moment._

_ I mean, it's not exactly chilled out. Elena Finnigan had some kind of illness spell that led her to have to stay in the hospital wing and everybody was freaking out and nobody would tell us why. I mean, it's just a cold. I don't get it. And Slytherin's been losing massive amounts of points—like, hundreds—which is just brilliant for the rest of us_.

* * *

'Seriously?!' Scorpius whined, watching even _more_ green gemstones extract themselves from the Slytherin house case. 'We're down _hundreds_—we're behind _Hufflepuff_!'

'Hey!' Andy scowled.

Scorpius looked vaguely apologetic. 'Sorry, Fawcett.'

Cordelia passed by and, noticing the lack of Slytherin points, came over to stand beside Louis. The green stones were much lower than all the other houses; the entire cabinet was almost empty.

'What's _this_ for?' she asked concernedly.

Patricia turned to her. 'That's what we'd all like to know.'

'Well, I don't know anything,' said Cordelia, 'but I can check with Will Bowen and Alice Longbottom; they've been the Prefects on patrol this week.'

'Yeah,' Louis replied, 'I think I saw Will on his way to the library, if that helps.'

Cordelia nodded in thanks and left momentarily. She was halfway to the stairs of the Entrance Hall before she turned around and said, 'meet you lot later—and Rory, yeah?'

Patricia and Albus nodded; all five appreciating the inside joke. A small group of third-year Slytherins began to notice the lack of points, too, and came over to investigate.

'What's going on?' asked one of them.

'We're losing to _Snufflemuff_; that's what,' Scorpius muttered bitterly.

Andy raised her eyebrows. 'When did you come up with _Snufflemuff_?'

* * *

_And on top of that, it's been announced that there's a Hogsmeade trip next weekend, which everybody's been waiting for since about forever. It's annoying how few trips there have been in the last little while, so nobody's going to waste the time—the entire Weasley shop will probably be bought out in the first hour._

_ But I'm not prepared to put money on that bet, because Al will probably jump in and steal my coins again. Wonderful cousin, he is._

_ Betting aside, this past week's been pretty good to Louis Weasley. And I'm hoping the luck holds, at least until exam season. Seriously—Charms, Defence, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, Astronomy, History of Magic and Potions? Mercy to Al and Rose and all those other brainy types who have things like Arithmancy and Ancient Runes to worry about._

* * *

Rose's oversized library book fell to the floor of the common room with a loud clap; the resounding thump caused several people to start, including Louis and a first-year who fell out of her chair at the window, then scrambled back into it with a face that showed her hope nobody had seen.

'Sorry,' Rose offered feebly, pushing past fourth-year Alana Harris (for it was she who made the Prefect drop her book when they collided on the stairs), and hurrying up to the dormitories.

Louis followed her, to find his cousin trying to contain laughter on the narrow walkway between the boys' dormitories and the girls'. Rose stifled her giggles as the sound of footsteps reached her, but when she noticed it was Louis, the worry faded from her face.

'What was _that_?' he asked.

Rose continued to giggle. She didn't often drop things; especially not heavy books. 'I was aiming for Harris's toes,' she admitted, looking annoyed that her attempt at sabotage had not worked.

Louis burst out laughing.

'Well, I couldn't help it!' Rose exclaimed. 'You saw what shoes she had on! Those little strappy sandals—it would have been too easy!'

'You're an awful human being,' Louis told her.

Rose nodded. 'I know.'

* * *

_Thankfully, though, I'm not one of them._

_ That's all for now. I'll send more after I get word about how you and Teddy are going in your new house. (Wow, exciting. New house. Congrats. Is that what I'm meant to say? It felt a bit pansy-ish to me.)_

_ Love,_

_ Lou_

_P.S. Slytherin just lost fifty more points. I could hear Scorpius's swearing from here._


	31. Of Peps

**Disclaimer:** Here's to J.K.R., and lots of other lovely people.

**AN:** Gee-whiz! Thanks for the reviews! I absolutely love you all; you're the first drops of rain after a drought, you're the first seedlings of the spring, you're... you're absolutely marvelous. _But_ I do have something I would like to address, and this isn't a scolding—not totally, anyway—but I'd just like to say that _I know this update has taken a while. I don't need you constantly remind me. _People have been coming up to me and saying "so I know it was your birthday, but when's Chapter Thirty-One going to be out?" and I must tell you that there is _nothing_ more insulting to me than that. As an author, I need time to create and craft and get to a certain word count and date within the story, otherwise it will end up being flawed and completely un-enjoyable. So just please let me be in the future, all right?

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One**

"**Of Peps"**

**Or**

* * *

"**Porcelain Fists".**

* * *

_**April 6**_

* * *

"When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me—speaking words of wisdom: let it be."

James had been giving this as words of advice for anybody who would listen. Albus didn't know why: it wasn't remotely helpful, and it made him sound like a hippie, and _on top of that_ James wasn't even religious. So "Mother Mary" and her comings and goings were very little more than a choice of words, and an ill-fitting one at that.

It was evening and, like many other times, Albus found himself alone in the common room. He wasn't about to make another unnecessary trip to the kitchens, as much fun as things were with Andy. He didn't feel energetic enough to even begin the trip upstairs.

Then again, falling asleep in the common room wouldn't be to anybody's benefit—not his, not Louis's, and _certainly_ not that group of students in the years below who would come down from the dormitories and find a sleeping Albus Potter in front of the fire.

Lethargically, the sixth-year began to roll up his parchment and collect his quills before heading up the stairs. He didn't very much fancy the upward trudge, but he embarked on this short trip knowing that he really had no other choice; the only thought running through Albus's mind in that brief period between the common room and the dormitory was that he hoped he wasn't waking anybody else up.

_Merlin, I must be more tired than I think._

He stumbled through the sixth-year dormitory to his bed, changed into his pajamas and—forgive the cliché—was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

In the first of Albus's dreams—for he had many vivid ones that night—he found himself in the Room of Requirement. Somehow he knew that was where he was, even though it did not look as it usually would have; the room was long and built of white marble, with pillars and columns running down the whole area in neat rows.

'Albus?!'

There came a cry from behind him and the Gryffindor barely had enough time to turn around before a bushy mane of hair crashed into him. Andy rolled off of Albus's chest as the two of them landed, sprawled on the floor of the room.

'I'm so sorry!' said the former. There was a note of urgency in her voice, which made Albus wonder what could have startled her. 'There's just—there's something coming.'

Raising his eyebrows, he asked the logical question: '_what?_'

'I... I don't know, but it's massive! It already got Patricia!'

'Andy, what are you talking about?'

There was a large roaring sound and Andy pulled Albus by the hand in the opposite direction; obviously, whatever was after them and whatever had "already got Patricia" had a good, long stride, and it was gaining on them.

At the sound of another roar, Andy pushed Albus behind one of the pillars and she looked him in the eye. 'I'm not sure: massive, black, gnashing teeth. But Patricia's gone, and I don't know where the others are.'

'Who was here? Who was here with you?'

She gasped, throwing a hand against his mouth as the sound of large, heavy footsteps reached them. Albus did his best to continue the question with his eyes, but Andy, whose hand was still over the lower half of his face, was not looking at him.

'It's not the monster,' she breathed, releasing Albus.

He breathed deeply: in and out, in and out...

'Who is it, then?'

But the Hufflepuff did not need a reply, for his question answered itself. Scorpius and Cordelia hurried into view; in turn, Andy and Albus caught their hands and pulled them back behind the pillar.

'Oh, Merlin —Al, when did you get here?!' asked Cordelia.

Shrugging, for he himself did not know, Albus replied: 'No idea.'

Scorpius looked from his Gryffindor friend to the Hufflepuff beside him; slowly, one of his light, sculpted eyebrows raised. 'Did we interrupt something?'

Albus wondered how two teenagers: one seventeen—the previous day had granted Scorpius this privilege —and an equally tall sixteen-year-old could have made such a racket. Then again, this wasn't exactly the most sensible of situations, and he deemed it irrelevant. Andy was in the middle of debunking Scorpius's ridiculous question when Albus returned to the land of the living.

'...him and then whatever's after us decided to —'

There was an almighty crash and the entire room seemed to shake. Albus and his companions lurched with the movement. In an instant, the beast—now that he saw it; Andy had described it perfectly: large, furry, dark, with matted hair around its jaws and, inside, razor-sharp teeth dripping with a mixture of saliva and blood—joined them. Instead of running past them as it would have in any reasonable story, the monster paused right beside the four Hogwarts students: its stare was red and relentless.

Albus's first thought was that he had never learned anything about _this_ particular beast in Care of Magical Creatures when he had taken it back in third year.

They tried to run, to turn away, get as far from the beast as they could; in retrospect, they almost succeeded, but the monster had chosen its victim and it snapped up the girl in its hands.

Scorpius's eyes widened and he shouted, 'Cordelia!'

But he was too far away to do anything: Andy was closest, then Albus. The monster tried to reach out with its other hand and grab the Hufflepuff, but Albus lunged forward and pulled her back. He didn't have time to go back for Cordelia—the ultimatum had been reached: Andy's protection, or trying to get the Ravenclaw to safety. He couldn't do both.

Albus woke with a start as the beast crushed Cordelia's torso.

* * *

_**April 7**_

* * *

'So did you hear about Al's dream last night?'

Louis addressed the Head Boy, and Albus looked up from his breakfast. It was half past seven and the Great Hall was bustling with activity. James raised his eyebrows.

'No,' he replied. 'Why? Was it interesting?'

Louis shrugged. 'A monster killed your girlfriend.'

James's eyes bugged out and Roxanne, who was sitting a couple of places down, leaned over to hear what was being said.

'What?' asked James. 'What happened?'

'Well, basically,' Albus said—beginning his story before Louis could tell it wrong, 'me, Andy, Scorpius and Cordelia were being chased by this massive monster. I don't think it was a real one. But anyway, it caught up with us and before we could get far away, it grabbed Cordelia and—well—yeah.'

'Oh,' James muttered. 'Well, that's unpleasant.'

'Was I in this dream?' asked Rose, who was sitting beside Louis to Albus's right. 'Or had I already been killed off?'

Albus shook his head. 'I don't think you were there. But Patricia was dead; Andy said that in the dream.'

'How _vivid_ was this?' Fred asked, for he was somewhere in the proximity as well. 'Because you seem to have a lot of details.'

'I have no idea,' Albus replied. 'It was just some kind of crazy fever dream from late-night homework.'

* * *

_**April 8**_

* * *

It was Saturday, among other things. These "other things" were mainly menial events, but the most celebrated—both figuratively and literally—was Patricia Day's seventeenth birthday. (There was also the announcement of the final Apparition tests at the end of the month, but nobody particularly cared for this information because they found in it a source of dread.)

Even though he had quite a lot homework to do, Albus agreed to meet the rest of his somewhat-collected group of friends in the Room of Requirement at five o'clock. None of them would be attending dinner, for their servings were being brought up to the Room by house-elves who Andy had commandeered the previous evening.

The Room of Requirement was lavishly decorated, with lots of streamers and glittering lights and loud music that Albus suspected was Coriander Dippet's new album. Scorpius and the birthday girl were already inside, as was Ruby. Andy arrived about thirty seconds after Albus did, and Louis was with her. They had met in the hallway. Cordelia showed up shortly after, telling them that she was sorry to be the last of their party to get there; her lateness was attributed to a badly-scheduled Ravenclaw Quidditch practice.

There were gifts exchanged: music from Albus and Louis, an artistically drawn portrait of the seven sixth-years from Andy, a large bottle of mead Ruby had smuggled in from Hogsmeade some time ago, a shirt that Patricia had once told Cordelia she admired from—well, who is the _obvious_ person?—and a large collection of sweets, photographs and little bits of jewelry from Scorpius. He had to outdo everybody else because he was the boyfriend.

Obviously.

The Coriander Dippet song entitled "Never-Ending Algae" began its belting chorus. There was something about love and indecision and it was all very obvious, teenage and melodramatic, but it had good enough melody and harmony and beats and all that music stuff that Albus _really_ cared about.

'I still can't believe I'm seventeen,' said Patricia.

'Neither can _I_,' Scorpius replied deviously, and it was not just Al who caught the innuendo. Louis, on a nearby couch, raised his eyebrows twice in sequence, as if nodding them suggestively. Cordelia half-smiled.

However, Andy said: 'Enough of that, you two. Not until we've left.'

* * *

_**April 9**_

* * *

Sunday. Well, Sunday... to quote James, "this is more boring than sitting up in the library all day looking through books you've read ten thousand times. Those protagonists are not going to fall in love until the end. Get over it."

(To which Barbara replied, "excuse you.")

* * *

_**April 10**_

* * *

'Come on—I know there's something bothering you. You've had that same look on your face all day. Spit it out!'

His company paused, looking around the greenhouse hesitantly—for it was in the afternoon Herbology lesson that this soon-to-be serious conversation was taking place—then he said in a whisper, 'I'm thinking of asking Andy out.'

Albus's head snapped up and Louis looked slightly alarmed. The former's green eyes were wide open and staring. His eyebrows were raised higher than a person would have thought humanly possible. He set down the pod he had been trying to extract beans from and turned simply to face his cousin. A mask of collectedness washed over his features.

'What?'

Louis fidgeted with his Gryffindor tie. 'I—I'm thinking of asking Andy out.' He cleared his throat. 'Al, I thought you'd be encouraging me right about now...'

'No,' said Albus quickly; 'it's not that I don't wish you the best. I mean, that's great. Andy is... _fantastic_. But are you sure you're one hundred percent positive on this? That she'll matter more to you than anything else in the world, that the fact she's happy will light up your day—and if it isn't that, then it's her smile?'

It was Louis's turn to raise his eyebrows.

Albus continued: 'Because Andy's never had a boyfriend before, and she deserves her first one to be somebody who loves her; who cares about her and respects her. Someone who... I don't know. But do you think that's you?'

Louis said nothing. Evidently, his mind was somewhere Albus's was not. The rest of the class continued to pay them no attention; Cordelia was three people down and seemed to move over so to say something, but quickly realized this was not the time and snuck back to her work with Lysander Scamander.

'Because if it is, then go for it. But if you're not going to be that person, then don't bother. She deserves nothing but the best.'

It was a moment or two later—a period of murmured silence in which Albus thought he may have over-stepped some kind of line; that he had said too much, or said it too harshly—that Louis finally spoke.

'Perhaps _you're_ that person.'

But that was impossible.

* * *

_**April 11**_

* * *

Gryffindor common room was bustling. This wasn't a shocking occurrence, for Gryffindor common room was usually bustling, but on this particular day Albus noticed it more than he would have on any other. Perhaps it was that the common room was bustling and _James wasn't there_.

Now, it wasn't uncommon for James—he did not keep himself cooped up in the Head Boy's room all day—but it was strange to see Gryffindor tower so filled with boisterous life if his brother was not at the centre.

But then again, finding Fred wasn't much of a surprise, either.

Albus shuffled through a crowd of first-years to his cousin, who was sitting by the fire, encased by the massive amount of eleven-and-twelve-year-olds at his side.

'Commandeered the Lost Boys, have you, Fred?'

The seventh-year, like many of the onlookers who pretended not to be eavesdropping even though their actions were quite conspicuous, looked confused. 'Lost Boys?'

Albus—who knew a lot more about Muggle things than any of his cousins, bar Rose or Hugo; having taken Muggle Studies—shook his head and shrugged off the comment. 'It's nothing. Muggle story.'

Fred tilted his head to show how nonchalantly this information affected him and this gesture gave Albus time to rephrase his question. Much more bluntly, he asked, 'what's going on?'

'Oh, I'm just showing our little comrades here how to do a—'

'—a _what_, exactly?'

This was a voice Albus knew well, and one of the two belonging to the Gryffindor seventh-year Barbara Tennant. She had her normal, kind, come-to-me-for-anything-and-I'll-help-you-out voice, and her Head Girl voice. The latter was incredibly sharp and so resembled Albus's mother that it was almost uncanny.

Fred knew this voice and looked around mischievously at the first-years, a silent warning of "don't tell her a thing". Barbara smiled kindly at them all, and won them over instantly. She leaned over to face Verity Cattermole, who Fred had forgotten was even _in_ Gryffindor.

'Verity,' said the Head Girl in a sweet voice, 'what was Fred showing you?'

The little girl blushed. 'He—he said a snapdragon can give people awful rashes if you explode it using magic.'

Barbara raised one eyebrow. 'Did he tell you to use it?'

While Fred shook his head, Verity told her: 'yes, but only for enemies.'

It was as though the "only for enemies" was attempting to make everything okay. Albus drifted away from the crowd as Barbara dragged Fred off to a less-populated area of the common room for a scolding. She was making very accented gestures and her face was annoyed.

* * *

This telling-off continued until dinnertime; Albus was watching with a smirk on his face. However, the seriousness of the Head Girl wasn't complete, and she and Fred departed for dinner grinning at one another. Albus hoped Barbara's advice hadn't gone in one ear and out the other—as boring things often did with Fred—because he didn't fancy first-years hexing one-another.

Louis, who was still acting a bit timid about yesterday's interaction, joined his cousin on the stairs down from the fourth floor. They were a safe distance away from anybody else, and so a conversation rose as Louis's eyebrows did. He looked calculating.

'So why didn't you like the idea of me dating Andy?' he asked.

'Oh, I had no problem with you _dating_ her; it's just whether or not you _like_ her that I care about.'

'"Like" or "love"?'

'Does it matter?' asked Albus.

Louis shrugged. 'I don't know. Does it?'

'You tell me.'

'Would you be mad if I asked her out?'

'Why would I? You're my cousin, she's my mate; _should_ it bother me?'

'Are you in denial?'

'No, I'm in _de Hogwarts_.'

* * *

_**April 12**_

* * *

Wednesday was somewhat lethargic in nature. Albus woke up at a slow, sloth-like pace, much too tired for a person who had managed to get a good nights' sleep. This was owed to his free lesson time after lunch on Tuesdays, which—if he did not let Scorpius talk him into a trip to the Room of Requirement (which they seemed to "Require" a lot more often than any other students in Hogwarts)—allowed Albus plenty of time to finish his homework. All of it was done.

On his way to Potions that morning, Albus found himself approached by Bridget Davies, with whom he had not spoken since the previous school-year when they were partnered together in Charms. She wore a bright blue jumper, beige lace-up boots, and an annoyed expression.

He wasn't very sure why she was talking to him, because it really _had_ been a while, but Albus did his best to listen anyway and not respond like an idiot.

'You finished the chart, right?' stated Bridget.

Albus pointed to the Potions classroom, a little down the way from where the two of them were standing. 'That chart?'

Bridget nodded, and then Albus did.

'Can I see it?' the former asked briskly. 'I don't know if I did mine right.'

_Of course you did; you're a Ravenclaw_.

But Albus showed her anyway.

Noticing her still-irritated expression and guessing it wasn't about homework, he asked, 'are you okay?'

She sniffed. 'Yeah, yeah, of course. I'm just—Shelley's been being a massive idiot lately—more so than usual.'

'How so?'

Albus could tell that she was a bit surprised that he was even pretending to care (not that he _was_ pretending, but he was a boy and a Gryffindor and sixteen and these do not often combine into a sincerely-mannered person in the slightest) but he ignored this.

'She snogged a boy she shouldn't have.'

Albus raised his eyebrows and said jokingly, 'what an uncommon occurrence. I've never heard of our _dear_ Shelley Corner doing such an inappropriate thing! She's so empathetic, so vulnerable—'

Bridget rolled her eyes. 'I hate you, Albus Potter.'

He grinned. 'Don't hate what you can't have.'

* * *

'Why were you talking to Bridget Davies? Before Potions.'

Andy leaned across the table in History of Magic. She had a quill between her fingers, though she wasn't taking notes, and hadn't been since the lesson had begun. Albus's green eyes flitted up from the book he was reading—most certainly not related to History of Magic in the slightest; the escapades of Walburga Tennybrook or whoever Professor Binns was droning on about mattered very little to him—and he looked at his friend.

'She asked about the homework, and then we talked about Shelley Corner's most recent wrongdoing. Why?' he added as an afterthought. 'Jealous?'

Andy stared at him blankly.

'Obviously not,' he concluded.

'Sorry to burst your bubble, but the world doesn't revolve around you. Not everyone is overcome with lust at the sight of you.'

'Tell that to Scorpius.'

She snorted. 'He'd revolt.'

'Probably.'

Andy was silent for a moment. (A moment in which Albus glanced over at Scorpius's wristwatch and felt more than relieved to find there were less than ten minutes of class left.)

Then she stated: 'you need a girlfriend, Al.'

He looked at her somewhat confusedly. 'Are you _offering_?'

'No,' said Andy quickly. At the same time, Scorpius leaned over and told Albus, 'she should be.'

Both of them, with Scorpius's green-grey eyes and Andy's dark brown ones, looked at their Gryffindor companion. He did not know what it was that they were waiting for, and so he returned to his book. Scorpius sighed. It was like he knew something the others didn't.

* * *

The lesson ended and, instead of heading up to the Room of Requirement, Scorpius departed for the Slytherin common room with Patricia; Andy hurried off to Divination and many of Gryffindor house with Cordelia to Ancient Runes, whilst Albus began the long walk back to Gryffindor tower.

Bridget Davies was walking a bit behind him on the stairs, and it was after about three minutes that Albus turned around and said, 'I'm starting to think you have a crush on me.'

Knowing the joke, Bridget smirked. 'Don't flatter yourself. I'm going to the library.'

'Okay,' said Albus. But he would have enjoyed a walking buddy.

* * *

_**April 13**_

* * *

His head hurt.

James's fault.

Paul McCartney's fault.

Cordelia's fault, for buying Paul McCartney and the Beatles' music for James.

If he heard _one more chorus_ of The Ballad of John and Yoko, he would throw himself off the Astronomy tower. It had gotten to a point where he knew the musical cues, the instruments in the background—what was James doing listening to the Beatles at six o'clock in the morning? And so loudly?

Albus trudged up the stairs to the Head Boy's room and opened the door without knocking. James cried out, for he was only wearing his underwear, and proceeded to fall over a spare Quidditch kneepad sitting on the floor.

Albus smirked.

'What the_ hell_?!'

'Do you _have_ to be listening to the Beatles at _six_ in the morning?'

'Do you _have_ to barge into my room?'

'Get over it.'

'No.'

'If it were Friday, I'd understand; but no, it's Thursday, and there's nothing to celebrate on this random day of the week, so why are you blaring it? Couldn't you _Muffliato_?'

James rolled his eyes and said, 'if you're so bothered, _you_ do it. See if I care.'

'You're a ray of sunshine this morning,' Albus noted.

'I'm a teenage boy,' James groaned. 'Shut up. Leave that sunshine rubbish to Barbara, or some other time when it _isn't_ six in the morning.'

Albus looked at his brother in a new, kind of incredulous light. 'You're not _depressed_, are you, James?'

The Head Boy threw a towel at him.

'I think you're turning into a teenage girl. Moodier than Rose. Are you on your _period_?'

'Don't _joke_, Al, I'm not in the mood for it.'

Albus settled himself down on James's bed. 'Well, then I'm _sure_ you're depressed. What's happened?'

James sighed. 'I'm not depressed, Al, I'm... I'm undecided. The Arrows have offered me a place—'

'—that's great! Does Fred know?! Cordelia?!—'

'—but I don't think I want to play for them. Because so have the Magpies.'

Albus raised his eyebrows. 'But you love the Arrows. They won last year's league. Thirty-four titles. Two ahead of the Magpies.'

James sighed again. 'I know that, but I don't want to play for a team just because they've won lots of times. Like you said: the Montrose Magpies have had thirty-two wins. They're a better team, chemistry-wise. I'd love to play for them, but...'

'So you want to play for the Magpies?'

James nodded. 'Yeah.'

'And this dilemma woke you up at six o'clock in the morning and caused you to listen to the Beatles? Loudly?'

'"When I find myself in times of—"'

'—yes-I-know-don't-worry!'

* * *

_**April 14**_

* * *

'You should ask him out!' said a muffled voice Albus knew as Scorpius's. It was coming around the corner; or, rather, Al was, because it was he doing a lot of the walking, as opposed to the talking.

One like Andy's replied, 'no—he'd say "no", I can't.'

At this point, with a plan in his mind, Albus reached the corner. Both Scorpius and Andy blanched at the sight of him: the latter slightly more so.

He asked, 'who's this you fancy?' at the same time Scorpius cried, 'Al!'

Andy spluttered, 'n-no one!'

_Highly suspect, that._

* * *

'I get to take my Apparition test tomorrow!' Rose sang, dancing around the common room while Roxanne and Albus looked on bitterly.

Being only in fifth year, Roxanne had to wait until she turned seventeen; but this was Albus's problem, too—one he shared with Cordelia Gilbert, Ruby Zabini and a Hufflepuff named Ambrose Gamp—because his birthday was at the beginning of May, and therefore he would still be sixteen _tomorrow_ when the tests were being held. Granted, he would be able to take the Apparition test as soon as he turned seventeen, but that would require a trip to London and about an hour at the Ministry, and it would be only him. That was even if the school _allowed_ him to go. Perhaps they'd wait until everybody else turned seventeen, and then all the late-birthdays could go together.

That was a bad tangent.

'Of course,' Rose continued, her stressful genes inherited from Aunt Hermione becoming exceedingly apparent; 'there's the awful possibility that I'll fail, I mean, my dad did and so did Uncle Charlie, even if dad's was only half an eyebrow or something ridiculous like that; granted, I've done my research and I've been successful at all other attempts like in-class and during the lessons with the Ministry officials but I'm still absolutely terrified because what if something goes wrong? I mean, it's just going to be me in there considering it happens one at a time and I'm right after Louis so I really, really hope his goes well, too, but I'm just—'

The speedy, non-breathing manner in which she said all this caused Roxanne to intervene.

'Rose,' she said sternly. 'Calm down. You will be _fine_.'

'But what if I'm not?!' cried Rose, who was clutching at her hair as though she had the intention of pulling out curls of red in an almost insane manner. She was hopping from one foot to the other and seemed to be an inch from collapsing.

Albus, trying his best not to laugh, assured his cousin that she would be fantastic.

'Easy for you to say,' Rose muttered bitterly, 'you've Apparated tons of times during lessons. I mean, not in the first few, but after that—the instructor positively _loves_ you.'

'It's a hard thing,' said a wistful voice, halfway into a sigh, 'loving a Weasley.'

Barbara, for it was from she that the voice had protruded, sunk onto the couch beside Albus. Rose was momentarily distracted from her own mentally-initiated peril and asked, 'what's Fred done this time?'

Barbara shrugged. 'It's not _him_, so much as _Witch Weekly_.'

The other three curled their lips back in disgust. (Well, not so much _curled_, but you get what I mean.) They had plenty of experience with those ghastly reporters.

'Oh, they're _frightful_,' said Roxanne. 'Made me out to be some kind of lesbian last year, just because I hadn't had a date to Hogsmeade.'

'It's not that blokes haven't _asked_ her,' Albus put in, 'she's just been hung up on the same person _forever_.'

'Won't even tell us who,' Rose added.

Barbara smiled. 'You might just be the one person in your family who can keep a secret,' she told Roxanne thoughtfully.

Then she stood and left and Rose went back to stressing.

* * *

_**April 15**_

* * *

Three Hogwarts students had been sitting at the same table in a pub with the same amount of Broomsticks for the better part of an hour. Occasionally, a classmate of theirs would run in, either looking extremely pleased, or the complete opposite, and then buy themselves a drink.

Ambrose Gamp—Hufflepuff, pretty, sixteen until the eighteenth of July—was comforting a girl named Belinda Bones in the corner. She obviously hadn't passed.

Ruby returned with another round of butterbeers, dodging her annoying housemate Kathryn Bulstrode (who was boasting about being able to legally Apparate) as four boys entered the pub: Evan Cadwallader, Alfie Cattermole (a Gryffindor in Albus's dorm), Colin Eckert, and Ben Finch-Fletchley. Alfie spent more time with Hufflepuffs than Gryffindors, but this was probably because his dad had been one. At any rate, all but Cadwallader seemed to have passed.

Albus took a sip of his butterbeer as Cordelia called, 'Patricia! How did it go?'

The Slytherin hurried over to them from the entrance to the Three Broomsticks. 'Oh, fine,' she said. 'I Splinched about a centimeter of my hair, but it wasn't visible, so they passed me! I re-grew it before anybody noticed, so whatever.'

* * *

Five minutes later, Andy rushed in the door, looking immensely pleased with herself. Taking this as good news, Albus stepped down from his seat and gave her a massive hug of congratulations; he ignored the many looks as the others in their company gave their Hufflepuff comrade a high-five. Nothing more, nothing less.

Lottie hurried in shortly after, ignoring Nicholas Ashwood, who was trying to speak to her; Venice Higgs arrived and snatched Patricia away so she could complain about how Shelley Corner was kissing some bloke outside as a "celebration" and how Venice knew for a fact that he was a fourth-year; Melissa Jordan came in, followed by Scorpius, McCormick, McLaggen and Nott.

'There was no contest,' Scorpius told them, watching the other boys make their way to different tables around the pub. 'I would never have failed. Even if I Splinched, I still would've been too hot for old Twycross to say "no".'

Rory Spinnet came in ahead of Liz Pembridge, and a couple of students filed in before Louis and Rose flung open the door, both looking incredibly triumphant.

'We did it!'

'Both of us!'

'Passed!'

Albus clapped them both on the back. 'Well, of _course_ you did.'

* * *

_**April 16**_

* * *

Will and Rose made a much better fit than Rose and Scorpius. It wasn't that the latter relationship had been based on promiscuity, or because Albus didn't like either party, because he absolutely did, but there was just something about Rose and Will together that worked in a much, much better way.

They were sitting a little way away, simply studying together, occasionally speaking; Albus was meant to be looking over his Herbology assignment, but instead he found himself distracted.

'I'll ignore the fact you're staring at your cousin and her boyfriend if you ignore the fact that I noticed you doing it.'

Albus turned around as his friend took a seat beside him. He had known it was Andy before she even finished speaking.

'That's multiple levels of ignorance,' he told her. 'I don't know if it's safe.'

'Wasn't it curiosity that killed the cat?'

He shrugged. 'I think Cordelia would attest to that.'

Andy sighed and said, after a brief moment of pause, 'do you still fancy her?'

Albus shrugged again, wishing in that moment that he was outside in the chilly air with something to put in his mouth, like a blade of grass, a stick of wheat, perhaps even a cigarette, for even though he had never desired to take up the habit, he felt the addition of something on his person would have completed the theatrics of now.

'Not really,' he replied finally. 'I'm trying not to, and that gets easier every day.'

'Well, that's an improvement. We can't have you pining over somebody who can't reciprocate your feelings.'

Albus nodded. He was still wishing for the grass or the wheat or the cigarette.

'Why were you looking at them?' Andy asked. She inclined her head towards Rose and Will on the opposite side of the library.

'They're happy,' said Albus. 'And well-suited.'

'Well,' she breathed, 'if we're to help you, then what makes them so well-suited?'

'They were friends,' he decided. 'Sort of. And that's good. The best relationships—Barbs and Fred; Scorpius and Patricia—they all came from friendship.'

'You haven't got many female friends to choose from,' Andy told him. She sighed. 'Unless you find some, you'll have to settle for me.'

Albus smirked. 'You'd be settling for me first.'

He didn't hear, or perhaps he did, but maybe he thought his ears were mistaken; Andy said, 'hard lie, that one.'

* * *

_**April 17 & 18**_

* * *

'Why were you talking to Gabbie Sterling?'

'Am I not allowed to?'

Albus rounded the corner in the middle of James's interrogation.

'No, you're not allowed to,' said the Head Boy sternly.

Hugo glared at him. 'Why the bloody hell not?'

'She's our _competition_!' James cried, as if it were the most apparent thing in the world.

They were far enough away from others' prying eyes in the Head Boy's dormitory, and if Albus had not needed some help for Charms, he would not have heard the argument at all. Neither seemed to notice him enter, though, and he could very easily have left if the altercation was not so interesting.

'Why is that?!' Hugo snapped. 'You've already played them.'

'I don't care! Their game against Slytherin is going to decide the whole Cup! We could _lose_ if they win!'

Hugo looked vicious. 'Tell that to your girlfriend!' he exclaimed. 'Or have you forgotten that you and Cordelia are practically the _same_ situation—Ravenclaw, one year younger? In fact, you're _worse_—I'm not even on the team, and Cordelia's the _Captain_ of theirs! So me being friends with Gabbie Sterling is _nothing_ compared to your levels of "traitorousness". Is it, James?!'

With that, Hugo stormed out of the room, leaving James looking annoyed, and Albus utterly gob-smacked.

James was still scowling at his cousin as he said "hello" to Gabbie the next morning. At this, Albus saw fit to point out that he was a raging hypocrite, and that Hugo had been right, but this received a coarse hand gesture from James and a threat to shut his mouth or have a wand stuck up a much smaller orifice.

His brother was a twat.

* * *

_**April 19**_

* * *

Albus seemed to have made a habit of walking in on his relatives complaining about their troubles to one another. On April 19th, it happened to be Lily and Lucy, after Albus returned back from dinner.

'But Jeremy Peakes is so _fit_,' Lucy was saying, causing her male cousin (who, at this point, was still concealed from view) to practically gag.

Lily's tone of reply made it apparent that she was rolling her eyes. 'I don't particularly care about how fit he is; if he doesn't fancy me for who I am.'

_Ah, Lily's "independent woman" streak is playing up again. Can't say I mind._

But the same could not be said for Lucy.

'I just wish some decent bloke would hurry up and fancy me. At this rate, you and I are the only people in our family who haven't been in relationships.'

Lily snorted. 'If you count Al and Lou's occasional awkward dates "relationships".'

At this point, Albus had to interject. 'I'll have you know that I could go out with anybody I like. Poor _Lucy_ needs a _decent bloke_—oh where oh where will she find one?'

He was only teasing, but he didn't expect Lily's response to hurt so much.

'Don't lie, Al. You couldn't get a girlfriend if you tried, let alone two in the same year.'

He didn't really even have the heart to say "challenge accepted". Damned younger sisters.

* * *

_**April 20**_

* * *

Thursday left Albus quite annoyed. Days seemed to have a habit of doing that lately. But Shelley Corner was always a ray of sunshine hell bent on brightening up everybody's days, so when she approached Albus, he was praying for a miracle.

Well, his miracle was more "get me out of here please I don't care how just please do this one thing for me", rather than "let Shelley instill in me some magical insight on life, love, and laughter".

But, of course, she wanted to talk about James.

'Do you know what your brother's planning on doing after Hogwarts?'

He sighed, trying to be personable. 'Quidditch.'

'Ooh, really?' asked Shelley, as if it were the greatest of surprises. 'What team?'

'I don't know,' said Albus, even though he did. 'Ask James.'

'But James doesn't want to talk to me,' Shelley frowned.

_Neither do I_.

'Look,' she said seriously, and Albus braced himself for a lecture that never came. 'I'm sorry. But I really, really need to go now—I've told Ian Carpenter I'd meet him.'

'Ian Carpenter's a fifth-year.'

Shelley contemplated it. 'I suppose he is.'

* * *

_**April 21 & 22**_

* * *

Friday and Saturday, though usually fun, were two of the most boring days of Albus's life. Next to nothing happened.

* * *

_**April 23**_

* * *

**THE WOMEN IN THE WORLD OF THE WEASLEYS**

_**by Mia Daly**_

_It's amazing how many people are in love these days! Especially the famous Weasley family!_

_James (above left) has been in a relationship with his girlfriend Ravenclaw Cordelia Gilbert since last September; while Fred (above right) has been with long-time best friend Barbara Tennant since November. Hugo dated Alana Harris (below left) for roughly two months, and our sources show that there might be a new relationship on the horizon: Louis and Andy Fawcett! We have no photos except for this one in Hogsmeade, but we hear they're very good friends. Only time will tell..._

_But it's not just the male Weasleys who have been in relationships: Rose has been dating Ravenclaw—and friend of Cordelia Gilbert—Will Bowen since Christmas, and Molly used to go out with another Ravenclaw named Archie Myers. They love their Ravenclaws! (Though Andy Fawcett is in Hufflepuff... then again, Louis's taste has always been quirky!)_

_Good to know there's so much love in their lives_.

* * *

'Merlin!' said Andy by way of "hello". 'I understand why Tennant gets so bothered by those articles. It's like an invasion of privacy.'

Louis sat up from his place on the couch in the Room of Requirement. 'Hey!' he called. 'Don't make dating me sound frightful. It would be an _honour_.'

'Sure,' Andy muttered quickly.

'What's the point of your discontent, if any?'

Albus glared at Scorpius for his obvious lack of tact.

'It just feels like an invasion of privacy,' Andy continued, ignoring the Slytherin Prefect. 'I mean, I'm not even _dating_ Louis and this happens... good lord.'

'What _I_ don't understand,' began Scorpius, who seemed to think the room's attention had been off him for far too long, 'is that there are practically _no_ articles about me, and my love life. My family used to be Death Eaters. I could be the brooding, polar-Albus. I can just _imagine _it.'

He began to draw on a tangent, and the original concept of the conversation was lost.

* * *

_**April 24**_

* * *

Albus really had to stop eavesdropping.

'I didn't think your sister was going out with Louis Weasley, Jenna.'

He also had to stop listening to Hufflepuff girls and their gossip.

'Is it true?'

But they were in the library, and he could hear them from an aisle away, so there was nothing Albus could do about it, really...

'No,' Jenna replied. 'Of course not. That's _Witch Weekly_ creating lies.'

The other girls were quiet for a moment.

'In fact,' Jenna continued, 'if Andy's "close friends" with anybody, it's Albus Potter.'

'I _have_ seen them together. But they're not going out, are they?'

'No,' Jenna confirmed. 'They are nothing more than friends.'

That was the truth. Finally, somebody had found it. Albus hadn't been keen on the idea of Andy and Louis—it seemed like they were just _not_ compatible, as friendly as they were—and it was good to be one of many with this knowledge, instead of one on his own.

If that made any sense whatsoever.

(It probably didn't.)

Everybody seemed to be pointing in a different direction these days. Nobody could simply be "friends". Even though he was a teenager; almost legally an _adult_, Albus wasn't very pleased about the loss of this notion. "Friends" existed. They did.

He wasn't sure why he was thinking on such obscure, abstract subjects, but he granted it to the amount of anti-war, love music he had been hearing. Those _Beatles_.

'If your sister had to go out with anybody, though,' said Jenna's friend—Albus could feel his whole body getting more and more "obscure and abstract" in anticipation of what this Hufflepuff girl would say; 'Albus would be more likely than Louis.'

"More likely". That didn't mean "certain".

"More likely" was safe.

Wasn't it?

'Yes,' Jenna admitted. '_Much_ more likely.'

"Much"?!

* * *

_**April 25**_

* * *

Tuesdays were often forgotten in the retrospect of the week.

Considering how boring his was, Albus thought this was deserved.

* * *

_**April 26**_

* * *

April 26th.

Things had been so good, for so long.

In the following year, things would stay just as good, then be just as bad, then be just as good, and much, much worse.

This wasn't Albus being gifted with foresight, as often worried him—and James, who did not want a brother possessing any abilities that made him better than James in even the slightest of ways—it was simply the way of the world.

April 26th. Not counting the present day, there were seven until Albus's birthday. And we all know how powerful a number in the magical world seven can be.


	32. Maybe

**Disclaimer: **Rights to Rowling.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

"**Maybe"**

**Or**

"**May Be; with a hint of April Be".**

* * *

_**April 27**_

* * *

Why did she have to be struck by such ideas at so late a time of the night? Her homework was complete, though not without harm to the girl herself, and yet her mind wandered.

No doubt, any minute, Bridget would wake up and tell her to "turn that bloody light off", but Cordelia found that, in this moment, she couldn't. Foolish late-night revelations. She felt too free: an emotion set on by the amount of homework she had just finished. The muscles in her right hand ached from writing, and yet Cordelia found herself wanting to do more, to create something beautiful in the death of this night: the next _Tales of Beedle the Bard_, something to leave her remembered for all of eternity.

This was, of course, a foolhardy notion in itself. She could not expect to be remembered for all of eternity, because there would be a time when even wizards no longer roamed the Earth. There would be a time when there wasn't even an Earth at all. There was a time before humans and there would be one after, and nobody would be left to remember Cordelia Gilbert.

Would people study her in History of Magic? Would they complain as her classmates so often did when forced to write an essay on the trials and tribulations of her life? But why would they? What extraordinary feats had she accomplished?

The only point of interest in Cordelia's slow-moving, unimportant life was that she was James Potter's girlfriend. Companion to the son of the man who had saved the wizarding world. But James was not the man; he was the son, who had done nothing by comparison, and the companionship was not a permanent one: it was bound to be discarded in two months, or less.

Cordelia was not keen on being anything less than a footnote on British society. She _had_ to invent a potion or a spell or _something_ to keep her memory alive; something uniquely hers. Something people would _know_ her for, and only her.

True to character, Bridget groaned. 'Turn that bloody light off.'

Perhaps Cordelia was a Seer. But then again, she just knew her housemates well.

* * *

_**April 27**_

* * *

'Well, I'll be blowed!' exclaimed Scorpius.

Albus looked at him in a sidelong glance. 'Not by me,' he muttered.

Louis, who was sitting on the red velvet sofa by the fire in the Room of Requirement, and who was bathed in an orangey glow that finally caused him to resemble his ginger-haired cousins, encouraged them to get a room of their own. Scorpius rolled his eyes. 'Well, we'd _require_ this room, and at the moment, you're in it.'

'You're both perverts,' Louis told them.

Patricia, sitting on the floor at Scorpius's feet, shrugged. '_You_ understood the joke.'

Louis shrugged and took the edition of the _Evening Prophet_ Scorpius was trying to hand over to him. His eyes bulged. 'Well, I'll be blowed!' he cried.

'Not by me!' Scorpius and Albus replied simultaneously, eyeing one-another at the continuation of their joke. The former felt quite flattered that he had managed to get the same reaction out of Louis as out of himself. And it really _was_ him doing it, not the _Prophet_. Perhaps both. Because he was _in_ the _Prophet_.

'How did you get in the _Prophet_?!' Andy demanded.

Scorpius shrugged. 'A write-up on the oldest pureblood families in Britain.'

Andy, who had been given the newspaper by Louis at this point, read down the page. 'I didn't know there were Malfoys with William the Conqueror!'

'Armand,' Scorpius said lazily.

'And your grandfather wasn't the first Lucius!'

'—Lucius Number One wanted the hand of Liz One, the Muggle Queen at the time; some people think she didn't want to get married after that because great-great-great-something-grandfather-or-uncle jinxed her.'

'And Nicholas Malfoy—'

'—The real cause of "Black Death"—'

'And Septimus and Abraxas—'

'—Septimus used the then-Minister as a puppet, and great grandfather Braxie was suspected to have had something to do with the first Muggleborn Minister leaving his post prematurely—'

'—Lucius Number Two—'

'—Death Eater; shady bloke; damned brilliant hair—'

'And your dad—'

'—less puritan, less sulky, still living in the Wiltshire Estate, which the family's had for centuries.'

He said this is as though it meant little. To Scorpius, it probably didn't. He had been raised learning the family history, no doubt. Louis, however, looked less surprised than everybody else (even Patricia, who had presumably known all of this beforehand). 'You say that like you don't want to live in the Wiltshire Estate.'

Scorpius shrugged. 'Eventually, maybe. Not while I'm young, but after dad snuffs it, the manor could be a decent place to live.'

* * *

_**April 28**_

* * *

Bridget Davies was not stalking Albus Potter, but it occurred to her that he may have considered the point a possibility. It had nothing to do with him being a nice person, or a smart person, or a reasonably good-looking person, or a Quidditch-playing person; because Bridget had those characteristics on her own. They just needed the same volume—_thirty-three_—of a book series for their History of Magic homework.

She had been just about to grab it when it shot off the shelf, leaving Bridget to follow behind it indignantly with the intent of shouting at whoever had stolen her book, even though doing so would probably get her kicked out of the library, and at least two detentions.

But of course, the book floated down to sit on the table, right in front of Albus. And Bridget couldn't shout at Albus.

'We need to stop meeting this way,' he said.

'Really?' Bridget asked. 'I thought it was your brother who relied on clichés.'

Albus raised his arms in surrender. 'Sorry to catch you in a foul mood, Davies.'

'I'm always in a foul mood, Potter.'

'"Potter"?'

'"Davies"?'

Albus grinned, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. 'If you're after the book, I'm sure we can share.'

Bridget shook her head, smiling a little herself. She tucked a spare lock of dark hair behind her left ear and let her hand settle there momentarily before setting it down to swing limply at her side. 'I wanted to check it out, I'm afraid. Sarah might need it.'

Albus checked the spine. 'As I thought,' he muttered abstractly. 'It's a reference book. No check-outs.'

Bridget scrunched her nose up in distaste. 'Pity, that.'

'You _could_ stay and sit,' Albus offered, 'or at least tell me what you need so I can help you.'

'Why would you want to help me?' she asked suspiciously.

Albus shrugged. 'I can think of a multitude of reasons: the first, I'm a nice person; the second, I'd want you to do the same if the tables were turned; and last but not least, the Sorting Hat said Gryffindors were chivalrous. Can't help being who I am, Bridge.'

'"Bridge"?' she enquired, resting her weight on her right hip. Albus Potter was interesting, if not completely unoriginal.

'I trust you've been called it before.'

'Not by Gryffindors.'

Albus looked at her. Right in the eyes. Unnerving. 'Does my house matter?'

'Not really,' she admitted. 'But I've never really had a Gryffindor friend before.'

'So we're friends?' Albus supposed slowly.

Bridget shrugged. 'Possibly.' She looked at her wristwatch. 'It's getting on to dinnertime; I should be going.'

Albus bade her farewell with the half-hearted use of one hand, and Bridget turned to leave. She had made it out of the library and partway down the corridor before she realized that she had failed to assert her rights, and Albus Potter had without a doubt just stolen her book.

* * *

_**April 29**_

* * *

James Potter was good at façades.

In his seven years at Hogwarts, he had been cocky, sensitive; a leader. He was Head Boy, which was a miracle unto and in itself, and he had managed to hold a girlfriend for eight months. But that technically wasn't true. The girlfriend had managed to hold him. _Only Cordelia_.

James shouldn't have been thinking about Cordelia during an Ancient Runes study session. He was rubbish enough at it already. Barbara had been the only reason he scraped an E—Exceeds Expectations, for those forgetful Muggle types—and now, in this moment, she was getting incredibly stroppy because he was three lines behind on their dual translation, which she would also be marked on, and if he failed her —if they got anything less than a ninety-five percent on this assignment—she would rip his perfectly messed up hair right from its roots. That probably wouldn't be all.

'Damn it, James. I've told you three times!' Barbara cursed under her breath, and James's hands automatically flew to his hair, just to make sure it was still there. The Head Girl leaned sideways to get a better look at his piece of parchment. She groaned. 'James...!'

'I know,' he said tiredly. 'I'll get to it now. I promise.'

'Okay,' Barbara settled, no longer using that terrifyingly strict Head Girl voice that James referred to behind closed doors as "Ginny Potter's Pride and Joy". It was almost sad that it wasn't him. 'But make sure to let me check it once you're finished. I won't let Professor McKinnon take points off because of your awful crypt handwriting. No offence.'

'None taken,' said James. 'But I'll have you know most birds find that reassuring: my "awful crypt handwriting". It's good to think James Sirius Potter has one flaw. Which is, in fact, not a flaw at all.'

Barbara returned to her parchment. 'You're nauseating.'

'No,' James enunciated. 'I am hot.'

* * *

_**April 30**_

* * *

For the last day of the month, there wasn't much celebrating. Fred was struck by sentimentality, and went around mourning the bittersweet fact that, in exactly two months, they would be graduating. Done with school. All of it, finished.

Which, of course, made Roxanne threaten to punch him in the throat, because she still had two years of N.E.W.T. examinations after getting through her O.W.L.s. Chris Wood told her he'd "leave behind" his sixth-year Potions notes, which resulted in an uproar from Molly for rule-breaking. Then Lucy called her a hypocrite, and the "Gabbie Sterling" argument continued between James and Hugo at the mention of the word. Three Hufflepuffs were sent to the hospital wing for simply being in the vicinity.

Well, I said "not much celebrating", but that doesn't mean nothing happened.

* * *

_**May 1**_

* * *

**(Say You Like Me)**

'Shit! Sorry!'

'No! It's okay!'

Chris's arms shot out to steady Roxanne as the piles of parchment flew from her hands. She bent down to pick them up, and he bent to help, and as he did so, she pulled her hair behind her ear from where it had spilled—how did it fall? It wasn't thin, and yet it still possessed such a silky quality; _how_?!—and Roxanne Weasley really_ was _quite pretty, wasn't she?

'This is really cliché,' she said, cutting into his mini-reverie. Her parchment was back in her arms, minus the roll in Chris's, which he quickly handed over as the two of them stood.

'Hate that,' Wood agreed.

'I think this is the part where you say something about my eyes,' Roxanne joked.

At least, he _thought _it was a joke. Why would it be otherwise?

'I'll avoid that, for now. You forget I live with your brother.'

Roxanne grinned. 'You live with me, too. Technically. And all the other girls in school, but that can be ignored.'

Was she flirting with him? Were they _flirting_? Merlin, all the time Wood had spent with James was beginning to catch up on him. Flirting? With a sixteen-year-old, who was technically still a fifth-year?

But this was Roxanne, and she defied all things others saw fit to claim as "morals". It was practically her defining characteristic. Still, _had_ they been flirting? Nah, Roxanne was always like this. Unless Roxanne was always flirting with him. Chris hadn't seen her with other blokes, so he couldn't call this true or untrue.

He was absolutely rubbish with girls.

'Chris?' Roxanne pressed. She was waving her hand in front of his eyes, which had gone out of focus over the course of his mental escapade. 'Earth to.'

He chuckled. 'I'm fine.'

'And I'm late,' Roxanne noticed, having seen the time displayed on her friend's wristwatch. She held up the parchment in her hands. 'Professor Flitwick probably won't be pleased if I'm ten minutes late for the first lesson of the week.'

'No, of course not,' he said quickly, bowing and gesturing in the direction Roxanne would go in to make her exit. He did not take History of Magic, and so he had no lessons until most other people's second. Roxanne grinned and hurried past him.

'Bye, Chris!'

'Later, Roxanne.'

* * *

**(Young Blood)**

It wasn't that she didn't love him. She did. Absolutely. There was nothing she was more sure of than that fact. But she was scared of the maturity their relationship held; not necessarily in physicality, but the general term. The _ideas _and _feelings_ of the relationship frightened her with their intensity.

It wasn't the type of situation where a person is surprised of their own emotions, because that is an uncommon occurrence, and Barbara Tennant was on the side of—like the majority of sensible people—reason. She loved Fred, and she was happy he had chosen her of all people to love back, but when the two amounts of equally heartfelt admiration were combined, it created something terrifying. Barbara wasn't good with the Terrifying.

She looked to her left, which was where Fred sat. It was roughly eleven o'clock, and the N.E.W.T. students were in the middle of a double period Charms. It was more theoretical at the moment than practical, and her notes were complete, so Barbara took the time to investigate the tiny, often unseen details of Fred Weasley's face.

(I won't bother you with them, because all of that is overdone and awfully cliché. Then again, so was the case of many anecdotes you've read in this story. Continuing on.)

'Stop making love-eyes,' Molly muttered; Barbara snapped back to life.

'I was _not_ making love-eyes,' she denied.

Molly shook her head. 'You were. I've made my fair share of them, and I've made more than that. With somebody in this room, as a matter of fact. Saucepan-Faced Twat, by the window, remember?'

Barbara looked at Molly with a sad look of pity on her face. 'Of course I remember, Molly. Look—he's trying to chat up that Alessandra Abbott girl, Alice's cousin.'

Though Archie was making quite a flawed show of doing that very thing, Molly frowned. 'She's very pretty. Better cheekbones than me, more defined. And no freckles. With such pretty blonde hair, and blue eyes. Perfectly Aryan beauty.'

Barbara slapped her. 'Your cheekbones are fine, and your freckles are fading; your hair is pretty enough as it is, and in case you haven't noticed, you've also got blue eyes. As for "Aryan beauty", you obviously haven't taken Muggle Studies.'

Molly seemed flattered, but her mouth was still down-shaped and pouting. Barbara didn't blame her. Was she ever put in that position, she would probably take it worse than Molly had.

'Trust me,' said the Head Girl.

Her companion just nodded.

* * *

**(Sweet Perfection)**

The torches on the walls were lit, and the school was loud with the din of torrential rain. Nobody was in the corridors on the upper floors—well, next to nobody—because all students had been let out for lunch approximately five minutes earlier.

Two of these "next to nobodies" were Hugo Weasley and Gabbie Sterling, who had not intended to cross paths on the way to lunch, but had anyway.

'So is James still all "don't talk to Gabby! Blah, blah, blah!"?' she asked.

Hugo shrugged. 'Sort of.'

'That's a pity. I would have liked Cordelia's boyfriend to at least sort of not hate me.'

'Oh, he doesn't _hate_ you,' Hugo reassured her.

They passed a pair of embraced Hufflepuffs, shot at one another an awkward glance, and then continued down the stairs to lunch.

'He just thinks of you as competition,' finished the Gryffindor.

Gabbie raised her eyebrows, evidently sceptical. 'I don't know about Gryffindor, but Ravenclaw usually doesn't like their competition very much. So technically, "thinking we're competition" and "hating us" could be the same thing.'

'But James and Cordelia are dating.'

She sighed somewhat wistfully, and her face looked resigned. 'They won't be forever.'

* * *

**(Eleven)**

It was eleven minutes past two. The moments seemed to have reached that depressing point where they're passing more slowly than if you were not counting each one—in that unfair, soul-defeating type of way that only school moments can pull off. However, this was eleven past two on a Monday afternoon, and this makes all other eleven past twos seem slightly less frightful, or mundane, or even fantastic. The exception to this rule would be, perhaps, eleven past two on a Sunday afternoon, in which your freedom is dying and the universe is forcing you to watch.

However, on this specific eleven past two, that Monday afternoon, Patricia Day was in the Slytherin common room, and she was incredibly bored. Usually she had homework to do during this time, while Scorpius and the others suffered through Herbology—a class which, in her opinion, had only one good factor: the teacher—but on this Monday at eleven past two, she had no assignments to complete.

So Patricia decided to write to her mother.

_Dear mum_, her letter began quite originally; _it's the first of May. I haven't written since the reply to your letter on my birthday, and I'd like to assure you that EVERYTHING IS FINE!_ She wrote in large letters, pressing so hard on the parchment with her quill that the ink began to smudge. _Right now, I've got my afternoon frees—thank MERLIN I don't take Herbology or Care of Magical Creatures or Ancient Runes! _

_ I have enough work as it is, with Charms and Potions and Astronomy (which takes away even more sleep!) and Defence and Muggle Studies and History of Magic and I'm just so happy Professor Slughorn told me I didn't have to take Care of Magical Creatures or Ancient Runes._

_ I can't imagine all the smarty-pants people taking even more than me, and how they'll cope. But that's not what this letter is about and I think I'm just droning on because I'm bored. Anyway, not much has happened in the past few weeks. I haven't had any tiffs, and Scorpius is still annoying me about going into seventh year next year. He's really annoying sometimes, mum. In a good way, though, I swear._

_ I'm so tired. Everything is tiring and boring and I hate it because when I'm not in lessons, it's fine and dandy but then I get into class and it's like the teacher isn't even speaking English. I'm such a lazy idiot. Possibly the worst Slytherin ever. Where is my determination, my drive? When do I get cunning?_

_ Ugh, Merlin. Thank god there's only seven weeks of school left._

_ Love—before I fall asleep and if there are smudges, you'll know they're drool-caused—Patricia, your charming daughter of strong moral ethics._

* * *

**(Back to December)**

Well, not December, really. Sort of. That's when she got kicked off of the Slytherin Quidditch team. That's when she hit Shelley Corner. That's when she did a whole lot of stupid things that she really hated herself for doing. But Venice Higgs was being a complete and utter dolt, and she was done being that person.

She was over Dylan McCormick, for one. That was good. That was a positive sign! A good thing! Call the _Prophet_!

But, of course, she was a teenage girl and when he came up to her on the way back from the greenhouses, Venice did the stupid thing—old habits really _do_ die hard—and let him talk.

'Hey.'

_Wow. Life-changing._

'Hey, yourself.'

Venice was an idiot. She hated herself. Hate, hate, _hate_. And Shelley Corner was over there arguing with Nicholas Ashwood, and the first Ravenclaw had not just messed up Venice's year but Lottie Flanagan's, who Higgs had never liked very much in the first place but whom she now just pitied; and Scorpius was talking to Albus Potter and they were laughing; and Louis Weasley was with that Andy Fawcett girl near the Entrance Hall and Venice wasn't even sure why that made her hate herself even more but it did and—

'How are you going?'

_How long's it been? How long's it been since we talked? And you ask "how are you going?" To think, I fancied you once._

'I'm fine,' she replied tersely. Her dark eyes remained on the skyline of the school up ahead. His, though, she could feel on her.

'Good. Me, too.'

'Are you finding this as awkward as I am?' Venice asked bitterly.

Dylan blushed. She hated it when he blushed because she loved it, too. 'I'm sorry,' he said quietly.

She stopped in her tracks, winding around to face him finally. 'What?!'

'Sorry. I am.'

'For what, though? Shelley Corner? I don't understand —'

'—for Shelley Corner _and_ everything else.'

She nodded, a gesture that showed just how _typical_ it was for him to say something like that. There was a hard edge in her voice when Venice spoke next. 'That's all well and good, but I don't really care. I broke up with you—when? September? Last _year_?' She paused so Dylan could affirm this. He inclined his head. 'Exactly. You started going out with Corner at the end of October. That's practically two months, and it's not like I've spent all my free time since then crying over you.'

'If we're being fair,' said Dylan, 'you _did_ punch her.'

Venice glared up at him, her hands curling into fists. 'I punched her because she was annoying me! Nothing to do with you!'

'I know you, Higgs; you don't punch just _anybody_ who annoys you.'

_Get your damned hands out of your pockets and stop smiling at me. Don't make this difficult._

'I'm bloody close to punching _you_ at the moment!' Venice admitted angrily.

She charged off towards the castle, for it had begun to rain again, and Dylan hurried after her. He caught up too easily, for his legs were much longer than hers, and people can do abnormal things when they're desperate, and this just made Venice glare again. Huffing, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her shiny red jacket; her toes were curled inside her black lace-up boots, which were now a bit muddy.

Ignoring Dylan, she pulled out her wand—Venice _did_ like the way he recoiled when he though she might hex him, though—and began to siphon dirt off of her shoes. She really did like the boots.

Then she realized her mistake.

'Didn't you buy those boots in Cheshire?' Dylan asked.

He pointed to them, which Venice thought was a dumb gesture, because that made it look as though he thought she had more than one pair of boots on her person. She reluctantly replied to his statement, that "yes, she _had_ bought those boots in Cheshire." On one of their pre-school dates, approximately three weeks before she dumped him.

It had been Dylan, actually, who suggested that she might have liked them: they had been passing a shop fleetingly and Venice stopped to investigate a pretty blue pair of high heeled boots, but then complained that she probably wouldn't be able to walk in them. At this point, being a boy, Dylan pointed out the pair she was currently wearing and suggested, 'what about those?' So, of course, she had bought them.

'Oh, there's Ruby,' she said hurriedly, trying to escape. 'Better go.'

_Damned idiot._

* * *

**(Silly Love Songs)**

James had never thought that teenage boys really fell in love with their girlfriends. Love was something metaphysical, something that didn't actually even exist, but now he wasn't very sure about those definitions. Cordelia had grown on him. She... _I don't know; there's just something about her and I'm not sure we'll be done even after I'm gone_.

He had told Clancy—old, deceased Clancy—how he felt about her granddaughter. Perhaps this was how every boyfriend felt. He had told the grandmother, but he still hadn't told the girl. They had less than two months left together; he had to do it soon.

How big was "I love you", really? Fred had said it, and Barbara. But then again, the two of them had really been in love forever, even if neither would admit it to themselves. James wondered who else had said it, who else had meant it. Girls had told him for years that they loved him, but he had neglected the same response. It was a pity: they had probably believed what they said, that they loved him.

The idea of saying "I love you" to Cordelia invoked a sense of conflict within him. On the plus side, it seemed easy: he felt as enthusiastically about it as he did about the Quidditch Cup, and yet... James had never been more terrified.

"I love you."

"I love you."

"_I love you_."

He had to.

He wanted to.

"I love you."

* * *

**(A Little Something)**

Planet Earth wanted too much from too many people. Or, at least, this was what Scorpius gathered as he sat pondering everything from the universe to something Muggles called "atomic structure". It was nine o'clock at night and he really _did_ have Arithmancy homework to do.

Arithmancy was that annoying, tedious subject that doesn't often give too much homework, but the workload is massive when assignments _are_ given. He'd certainly be dropping it, along with History of Magic, when seventh year came around. Ancient Runes would be the sole elective that stayed, but that was just as bad. Perhaps he'd scrap that, too.

Then Scorpius had one of those annoying semi-revelations, in the Slytherin common room of all places, on May 1st of all nights. His family wanted too much from him, his friends wanted just as much; not to mention the whole damn establishment, and even Patricia. Granted, she was in a different category altogether, but even relationships required work, no matter how lovely or easy they were.

His head hurt and his eyes hurt and even his pride hurt because he was so tired of everything, and nothing, and everything again. Everybody wanted something of him, but there was nothing that would work. Nothing to give, nothing to get back. He wanted to succeed, but he was so done; he wanted to explore, but he was too far gone—

The scrunched ball (previously a pristinely-written letter) was beginning to hurt Scorpius's palm.

_Hello, love..._

_...dad's hoping you get good marks in your exams..._

_ ...wouldn't _"_Head Boy_"_ be wonderful for next year?..._

_ ...school..._

_ ...work..._

_ ...Hogwarts..._

_ ...why, even Patricia..._

The ink on Scorpius's quill ran from black to a violent, hidden red.

* * *

_**May 2**_

* * *

In terms of the future: Tues—"choose"—day.

In terms of the past: as all of you would expect, yes, there was a certain somber quality in the air. Nobody wished to wake; to have such a wonderful existence when the war of the past had left a battlefield and a tomb of their school. Some were indifferent; some wished they could have been. Fred did not smile the entire day. Not once. Everyone else found it understandable. They really shouldn't have been able to.

(And, surprisingly, James did not use the day to be exceedingly pompous about his parentage. No, he was just as solemn as everybody else.)

* * *

_**May 3**_

* * *

Albus awoke to an uproar, and a room full of gifts. Louis was grinning down at him, shirtless and wearing powder blue plaid pajama pants—try saying that five times fast—Rory Spinnet and Alfie Cattermole were sitting up on their respective beds and watching the Prefect, too.

'Happy Birthday, Al!' they all cried in relative unison.

'You're seventeen!'

'Of age!'

'Ain't that just spiffing?!'

(The last was Louis, being knowingly doltish.)

The present-opening process was long and laborious, but with his selection of gifts, Albus found the whole thing quite lucrative. He received everything he could have asked for and more.

* * *

On the way down to the Great Hall, a fifth-year friend of Roxanne's asked him if the party in the common room was still on. Albus presumed this was James's work, and so did nothing to verify or confirm this news; simply guiding the fifth-year in the right direction, towards the Head Boy, and then racing over to Gryffindor table for a full-on three-course breakfast.

'_Albus_!' Andy wailed, managing to turn the two-syllable name into one of six. She practically tackled him to the floor of the corridor, and then gave him a brightly-wrapped box, which smelled like vanilla and probably contained a cake. Cordelia and Bridget—the latter gave a quite quick birthday greeting and hurried off to Tabitha Perkins—followed behind, staying a way off so that Albus and Andy could continue their frivolities until she (for only the taller remained, if that wasn't obvious) was in the clear.

Then she, too, strode up to the Gryffindor and handed him a book-shaped parcel. Wishing him the best on his very special day—for hers was still yet to come—she asked, 'platonic, yes?'

Albus, who gathered this was about his feelings for her, nodded.

'Brilliant!' she exclaimed, leaning over (not "up", as any stereotypical account would have read, because the two of them stood at the same exact height) and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. 'Arithmancy, then?'

'Lead the way, milady.'

* * *

The party in Gryffindor tower made Albus's head hurt. Instead of participating in the various drinking games that ensued after about eight o'clock, he returned to his room to finish his homework. Which made him fall asleep, of course. Damned History of Magic.

* * *

_**May 4**_

* * *

Thurs—"hers"—day.

But more on that later.

* * *

_**May 5**_

* * *

Friday afternoon found Andy in the library (which was not a common occurrence in and of itself), and as she flicked through a book on the Order of the Phoenix, something other than "Friday" found her.

'...and in the year 1978, McKinnon and Price —'

'—am I interrupting valuable cramming time?' Albus asked, leaning over Andy's shoulder to see what she was doing. The short girl shook her head and closed her book with something of a docile attitude.

'Not cramming if it's not for a class,' Andy reminded.

Albus shrugged. 'If you're reading it purely out of joy—which I wouldn't recommend, because the Order of the Phoenix is depressing as hell, when you think about it—then a trip to the library was unnecessary. I could've told you everything you wanted to know.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Careful, there. You might be turning into James.'

'How so?'

'Hm... let's see... borderline narcissistic—though not like Scorpius—flaunting family and historical importance... oh, and leading on two girls at the same time.'

Albus chuckled, quite bemused. 'When's that last one come up, eh? Who am I "leading on"?'

The Hufflepuff set her book back on the shelf, between an encyclopedia on Puddlemere United and an old Potions book that seemed to be there for the sole purpose of gathering dust. 'Bridget Davies, for one.'

'I wouldn't call that "leading on",' said Albus, trying to reason.

'Oh, but you _should_,' Andy told him. 'Poor girl's probably head-over-heels in love with you.'

He blushed, but then recovered. 'And why would that be, Miss Fawcett?'

'_Well_, Mr. Potter, since you're being so insistent on making me flatter you: it's probably because you're smart, and you're not a prick, _and_ you play Quidditch.' She paused. 'And if I _dare_ even say it... you're not bad-looking, either.'

'Don't _exaggerate_, Fawcett,' Albus said playfully (an oddly feminine description, but I assure you that was not the case), pretending to hit Andy's shoulder. 'You're too kind.'

_And just when Andy thought she might have avoided the whole thing—_

'So who's the second girl? You know, if Bridget Davies can't stand to be apart from me and all that.'

She rolled her eyes. '_Me_, of course. Not that I'd ever fall for it,' she added quickly; he looked somewhat surprised. 'I've got a heart of stone.'

Albus chuckled. '_Right_—but don't think I'm leading you on—no offence. Or Bridget. Don't worry about her.'

But something in the way he said it made Andy wonder if she should have.

* * *

_**May 6**_

* * *

'No, no—_no_, McCormick! Don't be an asshat, you _know_ how that play is run.'

Albus smirked in the stands. 'Wow. Your boyfriend's a genuine prat.'

Patricia sighed. 'He certainly is.'

'Quite sexy when he yells like that, though.'

'He certainly is.'

* * *

_**May 7**_

* * *

'_James_!'

The tall, messy-haired Quidditch player—what a familiar description that is—ducked away from the conversation he was holding with a fourth-year and dashed up the stairs to the boys' dormitories. James didn't like the shrillness of the calling.

_Damn Hogwarts, with its sexist dorm rules._

Barbara was glaring at him from the doorway of the Head Boy's room.

'You know,' said James evasively. 'It's technically against school rules for two people of the same gender to be alone together in a room. But _then again_,' he added after a momentary pause, 'what Fred doesn't know won't hurt him.'

The Head Girl's face made it clear that she wasn't in the mood for joking.

'Sorry,' James amended. He felt like a toddler caught doing something he shouldn't have been. 'What's with the shrieking then? What did I do this time?'

'You _told Cordelia that I wanted Gabbie Sterling off the Ravenclaw team?!_'

James sat up on his bed. 'Shit, no! What?! Of course not!'

'Gabbie is a _nice girl_, and she's really good and how dare you make it—'

'—I didn't—'

'—sound like _I_ want her off the Ravenclaw team!'

'_I didn't bloody say that!_' James yelled, fighting to be heard over Barbara's continued tirade. It came to a stop suddenly.

'You didn't?'

'No!' cried James. He quite liked being listened to.

'Then what _did_ you tell Cordelia?'

'That it'd be better for all of goddamn Gryffindor if Sterling didn't play!' James exclaimed, beginning a rant of his own. 'Because like you said she's good and Hugo doesn't like it when I tell him not to hang out with her and I know I'm a hypocrite just shut up _stop laughing!_'

* * *

_**May 8**_

* * *

(_May 8, 2017_)

The little Slytherin girl looked around, wide-eyed and gleeful. Her comrades, the others in her year, had already gone into the Great Hall for breakfast. To them, it was almost commonplace routine now. But to Patricia, the excitement never died. She had been twelve for a month, and she had really hoped that the childishness of something like _loving Hogwarts_ would fade with age, but apparently not. Ruby and Venice told her on a regular basis that she was weird.

They also said she was weird because her best friend was a boy. He had floppy blond hair and an ambience of being absolutely cared for growing up. Scorpius Malfoy was mostly kind, mostly smart, and mostly normal; of course, there were those rare occasions when he became mostly immature, mostly mean, and just a wee bit pureblood supremacist, but this coming from a family whose history made this almost ingrained... it didn't crop up as much as it could have.

'Are you coming?' asked the floppy-haired boy-best-friend.

Patricia quickly hurried along into the Great Hall behind him.

People made fun of her because they thought she fancied Scorpius. Boys and girls could be friends! Fancying Scorpius? Even the _idea_ made her laugh. It was so funny—what were the odds of something ridiculous like that? Actually _fancying_ Scorpius?!

Patricia sat down between Ruby and Scorpius, and she thought about what it would be like to kiss him. It wasn't a lustful affair (of course not!), but sometimes if you fancy someone you kiss them. Sometimes you marry them, even! And have kids! The prospect of people thinking she wanted to have _babies_ with Scorpius Malfoy made Patricia snort into her pancakes.

'Whoa, Trish,' Scorpius advised: 'say it, don't spray it.'

She rolled her eyes at him and, checking that her pancakes were completely unspoiled, Patricia continued eating. Ruby and Venice began to talk about how handsome Professor McKinnon was —a conversation Patricia thought was inappropriate for such twelve-year-olds to speak of; and Ruby was still eleven!

Scorpius began to talk rather heatedly to Kane Nott about some kind of doxy egg, but Patricia found the whole thing very boring. Doxy eggs or not.

* * *

_**May 9, 10 & 11**_

* * *

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday were all quite menial days in the great retrospect of that year.

* * *

_**May 12**_

* * *

_Dear Rose,_

_I'm so happy to hear you're still working hard, and that Hugo is doing well. You know how he gets around exam time. (Which, speaking of, are coming up in a month! You've presumably started revising, Rose? I sent you that planner, didn't I? For your birthday?) With the looks of things, and the good words people have to give me, you're one of the obvious candidates for the Head Girl._

_ Of course, I won't say too much too soon, because that will probably do something stupid like jinx it —is Trelawney still... Trelawney? Don't listen to her, Rose; thank Merlin you don't take Divination—and anyway, your father is telling me not to worry._

_ And how are things going with Will Bowen? Tell me all about it._

_Lots of love,_

_Mum_

_P.S. I know you probably don't want to talk about Will. You're seventeen. Just don't be ridiculous and shut me out or anything, all right?_

* * *

_**May 13**_

* * *

_Mum!_

_I'm really hoping to get Head Girl. And please stop making things awkward and uncomfortable with the whole "Will" thing. Still better him than Malfoy, isn't it?_

_NOT PROUD OF THAT IN THE SLIGHTEST._

_Anyway, things are fine. But I have reviewing to do._

_Love,_

_Rose_

_P.S. Yes, the planner was for my birthday. It's been extremely helpful._

* * *

_**May 14**_

* * *

Don't be stupid, James.

You've been together exactly seven months and sixteen days.

Don't be stupid.

Don't be stupid, James.

He was bad at internal monologues. Since about forever, he had been trying to psych himself up to do the unbelievable. How would Cordelia react? Would she—? Fred had no advice to give on the thing, because his "love" was so pure and easy and just not understandable in any sense of the word. Nothing like this was difficult for him and Barbara. He wondered how many times this had happened with them. Probably more than once.

(Let me remind you: "doing the unbelievable". If your mind is wandering to something different altogether, check back at James's romantic history. Then think about what would be so "unbelievable". If it's not wandering, then good on you. Nice understanding of deep eighteen-year-olds.)

"I love you."

That couldn't be too difficult. James had said it to his parents, his cousins—even to Al one time at the age of seven when mum had left the two of them together in the bath.

"I'm _in_ love with you."

Now that's a different matter completely.

* * *

_**May 15**_

* * *

'I hate Mondays,' Andy grumbled.

Jenna, who almost smacked into a pillar simply because she was too tired to navigate herself, replied, 'don't we all.'

* * *

_**May 16**_

* * *

Tuesday wasn't much better. Louis tripped and almost knocked Tabitha Perkins into the trick step between the second and third floors, but that was really it.

* * *

_**May 17**_

* * *

'Hey, Cordelia!'

The Ravenclaw whirled around at the sound of her boyfriend's voice. Thankfully, she was alone, and so was he, and the corridor was deserted. Less people to watch James Potter stumble over himself.

'Hey, James.'

He coughed, clearing his throat. 'I—er—can I talk to you?'

She raised her eyebrows; saying, as though perfectly scripted: 'Aren't you already?'

James laughed nervously. 'Well. Huh. Funny that... I, er... I just —'

_Damn it, Potter! Pull yourself together! Your dad saved the bloody world at this age and you can't even tell a girl that you're in love with her? Wow, even I'd hex you right now and take all your money and clothing. And I'm you!_

'James, are you okay?'

'Yeah.' Another throat-clear. 'Yeah, I'm fine. I just... I have something I really want to tell you.'

'Oh, okay. Go ahead.'

'I...'


	33. A Little Confused, A Little Bit Bruised

**Disclaimer:** JoRo, bro. (I don't know.)

**AN: **Thanks for all your wonderful reviews! Sorry this chapter took so long; I've been ill again, but mostly just a fever this time. No vomiting, thank goodness. Just wish I had my own little Madam Pomfrey. Or my own James/Albus. That works, too. Come to think of it, I'd even go for Will Bowen. Or even a character that's getting introduced in this chapter. Spoilers.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

"**A Bit Confused, A Little Bit Bruised"**

**Or**

"**Ireland vs. Bulgaria".**

* * *

_**May 18**_

* * *

'So let me get this straight,' Andy recapped for what seemed like the six-hundredth time. 'Your hot eighteen-year-old boyfriend stopped you in a deserted hallway to tell you what _Quidditch team_ he's going to play for after school?'

Cordelia sighed. 'Yes.'

Andy bit into a muffin and nodded bitterly. 'That's blokes for you. Think they're about to say something extraordinary, and then they just act like an idiot. Talking about sports and their friends and...'

Cordelia raised her eyebrows and, chewing on her lip ever so slightly, asked: 'Is there something you'd like to share with me, Andy?'

The Hufflepuff looked distant in a way that Cordelia had never seen her before. Andy rolled up the sleeves of her grey jumper slowly, staring out of the window all the while. She exhaled deeply. The sky outside was beautiful. But "beautiful" was an overrated word—overused, next to meaningless. Andy had never been called it before. In a way, she was grateful; the word "beautiful" brought with it lies, and deceit, and the ability to cheat on something that wasn't a test. "Beautiful" was scary, dangerous.

She sighed, seemingly returning to the land of the living and with this re-emergence, she acknowledged Cordelia's presence. 'No,' said Andy. 'It's nothing.'

'It doesn't _seem_ like nothing,' Cordelia pressed, in that annoying way that only the fewest people can accomplish without sounding condescending. 'Come on, you can tell me.'

Andy looked hesitant.

'Are—er—you... you're...' Cordelia resolved: 'you're not about to try and tell me you fancy Al, are you?'

The last of the pile of muffins had been halfway to Andy's mouth, but at those words found itself halfway across the room, in a scrunched up mess of cake and pretty wrapping paper. A pity about the latter. Seamy liked those little papers.

'What?—Al? —_fancy_? —no! Course not!'

Cordelia raised an eyebrow. 'You're awfully defensive for somebody who _doesn't_ fancy Al Potter.'

Of course she could say it like it was just an observation. How could this be the same girl who Al had fancied not six months ago? How could she have chosen James?

Andy accidently voiced the last of those questions aloud.

Cordelia blushed. 'I didn't "choose" anybody,' she spluttered. 'If you'll be reasonable, you'll remember I had no idea Al fancied me until December. And we all know what trouble that caused, so I'd rather have it behind me and not remembered—and I know he feels the same way, too.'

_Does he? Does he want to forget? Would he want her, if she decided she wanted him? _No, Cordelia wasn't like that. She wasn't. But the two brothers _were_ so similar...

'And don't,' Cordelia continued (for a moment it was eerily scary, like the Ravenclaw had read Andy's mind), 'think that I would have chosen him if I'd known. _Not that there's a choice!_ It's just... come on, he's _Al_.'

Andy swallowed. 'Yeah. "Al". Brotherly, high-marks-obsessed Al.'

'Brotherly, high-marks-obsessed Al, who you fancy regardless of the fact that it then makes the first adjective in the sense illegal,' Cordelia stated with a tone of finality.

Andy rolled her eyes and wished she hadn't finished the muffins.

'So who else knows?'

Andy remained silent.

'Oh, Merlin,' Cordelia said, sounding irritated. 'This isn't one of those things where the whole world knows you fancy a boy _except _the boy you fancy?'

'Why is this suddenly about Al?! Wasn't the conversation about James?!'

'Yes, it was—but _you_ changed the subject!'

'Do you think he was going to say "I love you"?'

Cordelia coughed, her eyes bugging out in absolute shock. 'I—uh—I'd like to believe that, but... he's—he's _James_. James doesn't _say_ things like that. He doesn't even believe in love. He's...'

'Don't be an idiot.'

Cordelia glared. 'I hardly think _that's_ fair.'

Andy rolled her eyes. 'You're really oblivious. It's starting to annoy me.'

The Ravenclaw raised her eyebrows (again). 'And you're good at avoiding sensitive topics. You _do_ like Al, don't you?'

I want to remind you that Andy isn't one for "normal" reactions. So don't be surprised when I tell you she _actually fell on the floor._

It took Cordelia a moment to haul her up—due to the fact they were up at the Astronomy Tower, the injury was neither severe nor public—and Andy thanked her friend while inhaling and exhaling manically.

'Okay,' came a voice from behind them. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be Louis. His Gryffindor tie was half undone, and his floppy blond hair was messed up. 'I take it this is a bad time.'

Andy sighed. 'No... no, it's fine.' She sat up. 'What happened to you?'

Louis looked bitter. 'Shelley Corner.'

'_What_?!'

Cordelia and Andy were looking at Louis as though they had never seen him before. A surprised expression crossed over his face and he cried, 'Merlin! No! She didn't—er—we didn't—'

Andy: 'Then why did you say "Shelley Corner"?'

Cordelia: 'And why is your tie all undone? That seems—'

'—"familiar", probably,' Andy muttered. 'What with the things you and James probably get up to. Or should I say "get _off_"?'

Louis and Cordelia looked at each other.

'I hate to contradict you,' Louis said, 'but Cordelia's probably the most prudish person I know, bar Al.'

The Ravenclaw blushed.

* * *

_**May 19**_

* * *

Friday evening meant another Quidditch practice for Slytherin, though it didn't go too well, because the next day was a Hogsmeade trip, which hadn't happened in a while and which everybody was excited for. Scorpius's voice was hoarse by the end of the two-hour period, and Patricia and Albus took turns imitating him while the captain looked on in annoyance.

'You're supposed to _laugh_!' said Patricia. 'It's _funny_.'

'It's not funny if the joke's about _you_.'

Albus raised his eyebrows. 'Stop sulking, Sunshine. Hogsmeade tomorrow. Wouldn't want to let sadness ruin your looks when there are girls to impress.'

'Oh, you'd know all about that,' retorted Scorpius, who had his arms folded. 'How many girlfriends have you had, then? None?'

'One.'

'Going to a Hogsmeade weekend or two with one of those fifth-year Ravenclaws doesn't count. That was like, two years ago.'

'Hey!' Patricia butted in. 'Elizabeth Ogden's decent.'

'How many girlfriends have _you_ had, then, Scorpius?' Albus snapped, and both knew there was more hostility than jokiness in the air as of that moment.

'Twice as many as you have, not counting Hogsmeade dates in years three to five—oh, and ones of those girlfriends was your _cousin_, in case you've forgotten.'

At these words, Patricia muttered, 'wish we all could.'

'Are you just _trying _to be an arse? Trying to start a fight?' Albus glared. 'Because, frankly, I get enough of this back in Gryffindor tower, and I don't want to fight with my best friend over something as trivial as girlfriends when all he's done is get upset that Patricia and I imitated his voice after Quidditch practice; everything's completely unnecessary.'

'Why don't you just date Andy, then?' Scorpius muttered. 'If you're so sick of being alone. Which you _obviously _are.'

Patricia slapped him across the face, and Albus looked on quite confusedly. His cheeks were bright red, making his face look like Christmas, for his eyes were so intensely green.

'I—I mean... I _could_ ask Andy out—I suppose...' He paused, then recovered enough to shrug. 'But—you know—she and I are just _mates_. We're not like that.'

How ignorant seventeen-year-old boys can be. Birthdays don't change a thing.

* * *

_**May 20**_

* * *

'Psst.'

Hugo looked around, unsure as to who could be addressing him, for he was alone on Hogsmeade's main street. There came another 'psst', and then the end of a Ravenclaw scarf emerged, bringing with it the Ravenclaw Seeker, Gabbie Sterling.

'Why the "psst"-ing?' Hugo asked, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly and tucking his gloved hands into the pockets of his jeans.

'I don't know,' Gabbie whispered. 'Is it safe to be seen with me? Will people assume we're dating?'

Hugo chuckled. 'I think _Witch Weekly_'s got quite bored of my exploits. Ask again when Amortentia's found in my dormitory.'

Gabbie moved to stand beside him. She was wearing the same beanie today as she had been during their conversation on the Quidditch pitch weeks ago, but her hair was not in the same plaits. It spilled over her shoulders now; there were a few strands caught on her collar.

'Okay,' said she; 'much better now. Much more normal.'

'If anything I do can be defined as "normal",' Hugo edited.

Gabbie shrugged. 'I guess that suffices, too.'

'What's this here, then?!'

Hugo knew that voice. He would know it anywhere. Alana Harris was standing behind them, looking as bright as she had when Hugo had fancied her, but with less of the glow, and more of the fake, plastered-on appeal. Her hair was in plaits this time—oh, parallels—and she was wearing the same red jacket she had been on one of their dates together. _What is it with girls and the recycling of accessories in the presence of Hugo Weasley?_

'We're just talking,' Gabbie managed.

Alana's brown eyes were fixed upon her, somewhat distrustfully. She turned to Hugo. 'Hi,' she said, still managing to sound icy. Her attention returned to Gabbie. 'You're wasting your time,' she told the younger girl. 'I got there first.'

Gabbie made a face that showed very clearly how stupid a remark she felt that was. However, she said, 'if we're going to be completely honest, Alana; whether I fancy Hugo or I don't, I'd rather be last than first.'

And in Hugo's mind, that made all the difference.

* * *

'You still don't know who it was?'

Elena sighed exasperatedly, rubbing her fingers along the sides of her butterbeer mug. 'No, Felix, I don't. And I wish you'd stop worrying,' she added. 'It's not as though you've reason to. And it hasn't happened again, so just don't worry about it, yeah? Just don't worry.'

'I'll stop worrying when _you_ stop getting all defensive,' Felix tried. 'The blokes who cursed you are still at our school—they could be in Hogsmeade right now, in this very _pub_, even—and yet you're telling me not to worry about it? Merlin, Elena; those are some messed up priorities you've got.'

She bit her lip. 'Felix... can I be honest with you?'

He shrugged. 'I'd rather have that than be lied to. What? Do you remember who cursed you?'

'No, no, no—it's not that!' Elena shook her head profusely. 'I just... well, I'm scared. I don't want it to happen again. I don't want it to happen to anybody else, and nobody wants the people who cursed me found any more than I do, but... I'm wondering if... what if we delve too deeply into this? What if they hurt somebody else? Like, I wouldn't be able to stand it if they cursed Fred, or Jess, or—oh, Merlin—or—or _you_...' Her lip began to quiver and Felix put out an encouraging arm to steady her. Thank goodness they were in a booth with a bit of privacy; this could have raised a lot of uncomfortable questions otherwise.

'Hey, hey,' Felix whispered condolingly, 'don't worry about me. I don't really care if I get cursed, or whatever else, as long as the idiots who did that awful thing to you are punished for it.'

Elena blushed, but Felix couldn't see it in the low lighting. Perhaps that was best.

Then, for good measure, Felix leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

* * *

'Hi, Cordelia.'

'Hi, Kevin.'

James looked over his shoulder at the boy who had just passed. 'Who's Kevin?' He asked his girlfriend, pointing at the male Ravenclaw who was now entering Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. 'Merlin, don't you know him?' She sighed. 'No, of course you don't. He's a Ravenclaw. My year. Shelley Corner's cousin, actually; much less whorish.'

James squinted in thought. 'Kevin Corner...' He nodded, and said with a air of decisiveness: 'I don't like him.'

* * *

'It's not that I don't like the articles, it's that I don't like being dissected and twisted by British media! _Especially_ not teenage outlets.'

Fred rolled his eyes. 'And you think the rest of us do?'

Barbara let out an angry sigh. 'No! I _don't_! But I'm not used to it, Fred. I didn't _pick_ this—'

'—neither did any of us, you know!'

'Oh, stop it!' Barbara snapped. 'You know what I mean, Fred! I'm not _like you_.'

Her boyfriend was silent for a moment. He then said: 'Fine. Well, if you're "not like me", then what _are_ you like? If you're "not like me", why are we having this argument in Hogsmeade, where we could be very easily seen? Perhaps it's because my girlfriend likes having attention to herself —'

Barbara looked at him; there was more fire in her gaze than had ever been seen before. 'What the hell did you just say to me?'

Fred was silent.

'Did you honestly just say that we were having this fight, here and now, because I like _attention_?' Barbara, who had seemed so fuelled by anger moments before, now looked closer to tears. She sniffled. 'Wow. Then I guess you really don't know me at all.'

Fred's face fell. 'You know I didn't...'

'Save it,' said the Head Girl, and Fred's heart cracked as her voice did. She ran off into the snow, back up to Hogwarts to spend the rest of the day in solitude. And he didn't even really blame her.

* * *

_**May 21**_

* * *

'You're an arse.'

'Knew that much myself, surprisingly.'

'Stop being so down in the dumps.' Beat. 'Do you know what you need?'

'_Not_ some Beatles music.'

'Damn it.'

'James,' said Fred, 'you are probably the worst person in the history of the world at comforting other people.'

The Head Boy raised his eyebrows. 'Is that so?'

'Yeah, it _is_ "so".'

James shrugged. 'I wouldn't say that to my best friend on a depressing Sunday night when he's been trying to get me out of the slump I've forced myself into.'

'Yeah, but you'd say it to your cousin.'

* * *

_**May 22 & 23**_

* * *

Lottie rubbed her eyes. Keeping them open hurt, but re-opening them post-blink was laborious. She hated Astronomy lessons on Monday nights. Though they technically started at midnight; so it was neither Monday nor Tuesday. Her brain hurt. Hurt, hurt, hurt. Fuzzy. Dark. Hurt. Louis was quite handsome. So was Alfie Cattermole. No, what? Her eyes. Hurt, hurt, hurt...

* * *

_**May 24**_

* * *

Lorcan Scamander never ate peaches. His brother always did. Every breakfast-time. Tabitha Perkins had noticed it over six years. Lysander ate peaches and Lorcan ate prunes. Both had complained at least eight times about the fact the school didn't stock Dirigible Plums.

Lysander was eating peaches; their syrup was running down his chin. He quickly dabbed it away before he thought anybody had noticed. Tabitha stifled a smile.

Tabitha Perkins was observant.

* * *

_**May 25**_

* * *

'Good luck,' Rose murmured.

Will's reply came in a hushed whisper, his warm breath snaking across her own lips. This was much more intimate than they had been before. 'For the match?'

'For the match,' she replied, nodding into a chaste kiss.

'I didn't think you wanted us to win,' Will told her, loosening Rose's pristinely folded Gryffindor tie. 'Wouldn't your family like to take the Cup yet again?'

Rose chuckled. 'I don't usually talk about my family with boyfriends.'

'Or boyfriends with family.'

Again, in between kisses, she laughed. 'That, too.'

* * *

_**May 26**_

* * *

'How does it feel to know that your absolutely fantastically wonderfully beautiful girlfriend is going to be playing against Slytherin tomorrow morning, Potter?'

'I don't know, Potter; how does it feel?'

'Are you talking to yourself, James?'

'No, I'm talking to Al.'

'Where is he, then?'

James pointed to show Chris. 'He's in the loo. Something about Spinnet hogging the shower.'

* * *

Scorpius spent the entire night swearing, devising game plans and cursing Cordelia Gilbert's ancestors for even reproducing. He punched a hole through the Slytherin fireplace. Cordelia cried about three times in the same four hours, about how she was a horrible captain and that they'd lose for sure. She had worked so hard and nobody ever gave her any credit for how terrible things got.

Shelley Corner's cousin Kevin tripped over a rug in Ravenclaw common room, but that's it for comic relief.

* * *

_**May 27**_

* * *

The last Quidditch match of the year was ten minutes from beginning. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin were all lining the bleachers, waiting for the players to emerge. The players themselves were in the locker rooms; Scorpius, cursing; Cordelia, crying. She did cry quite easily. It was a nervous thing, couldn't be helped. Bridget Davies was patting her on the back and telling her things would be all right. Cordelia told her to shut up and get her broom from the cupboard.

Melissa Jordan, to do a completely unbiased—well, sort of—commentary, had been assigned. She was looking just as excited as everybody else, and had begun her task even though the last fifty or so students were still piling in to get seats in the stands.

'Well, Hogwarts! Looks like we've got our work cut out for us today! How do you think it's going to go? Remember, this game decides who gets the Quidditch Cup! The houses currently in the running are Gryffindor, with six hundred and forty points; Hufflepuff, with one hundred and twenty points; and of course, the teams playing today—Ravenclaw, who have three hundred and twenty points at the moment, and Slytherin, two hundred and forty points.'

There was a snickering laugh throughout the crowd at Hufflepuff's score.

'But remember,' Melissa continued, 'both Slytherin and Ravenclaw still have this game to gain points! If Ravenclaw gain another three hundred and twenty points in this game, they'll be tied with Gryffindor for first place! This could be achieved by scoring seventeen goals and catching the Golden Snitch—now, enough about numbers!' Melissa decided, 'do you want to get our teams out here?!'

The crowd below erupted in cheer.

'Okay... for _Slytherin_, we've got Malfoy—'

Momentous applause.

'—McCormick, Harper, Vaisey... Bole, Prikk... and Montague!'

The Slytherin supporters in the stands began to hoot, and green sparks shot out from the crowds. Silver jets of light joined them, and illuminated the midday lighting in a way many people would have thought impossible. The players zoomed out onto the pitch as their names were called, bathed in the glow of their house colours. While many people would have shrunk in size, given their nerves, Scorpius and his team seemed to have bloomed. They looked confident, practiced. The Slytherins below them began to chant each player's name.

'And for Ravenclaw, we've got Sterling...!'

Hugo, among many others, clapped his hands together and shouted a cheer for Gabbie as she shot out onto the pitch in blue and bronze robes. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail more severe than anybody else's. Cordelia's idea, presumably. To keep the hair from distracting her Seeker.

'...Davies!'

Bridget's hair was just like Gabbie's.

'..._Gilbert!_'

James, down in the stands, almost stepped on a second-year in his enthusiasm to cheer for his girlfriend. Barbara, too, called out her well wishing.

'...Shaw!'

The last of the Chasers flew onto the pitch. He high-fived Bridget when he got close enough. Cordelia's eyes remained fixed on Scorpius.

'Myers! Connery! And _Bowen!_'

Rose waved her arms around in manic support as the fourteen players on the pitch descended to Madam Hooch so that they could hear the rules—yet again—and the captains could shake hands.

'Good luck, Cords.'

'You too, Scorp.'

'Still going to beat your arse.'

'Not a chance.'

The two teams climbed aboard their brooms again and shot up into the air. Madam Hooch's whistle blew, the balls were released, and the game began.

Scorpius shot out of the initial bloodshed, flying as far from the centre of the pitch as he could get before Sterling followed him. The Captain didn't want to get injured before he had to, if it was necessary at all. One of the Bludgers flew past his arm and Scorpius jumped, doing a cautionary loop-the-loop to throw off the Ravenclaw Beaters.

'It's Slytherin in possession! Harper streaks up the pitch! She's almost at the goalposts—_lovely block, Will! Told you Rose had taste!_—sorry, Professor Longbottom—so it's Ravenclaw in possession...'

Bridget had the Quaffle; she zigzagged through Slytherin's defences, executing a perfect Wollongong Shimmy—Muggles, do note, this is a play perfected by an Australian Quidditch team; see "Quidditch Through the Ages" for more notes—before reverse-passing the red ball to Seth Shaw as the Bludger sped towards her.

Bridget ducked at the last moment and saw Seth darting off to the goalposts, with Cordelia hovering a little above. At the perfect moment, the Captain dived, took the ball from Seth, and took Rourke by surprise.

'_Fantastic _play by Gilbert! Ten-nil to Ravenclaw! How did they work that out? I wonder how many times that play was practiced...'

* * *

Thirty minutes later, the score was one hundred and ten-nil to Ravenclaw. Will Bowen was on form, and Scorpius was murderous.

'Okay,' Melissa said from the commentators' booth, 'so perhaps Slytherin taking that third place slot won't be so probable after all. Still no sign of the Snitch.'

Cordelia called to Bridget and Seth, 'Hawkshead!' and the three of them formed the arrowhead, with Seth in the front. They dodged both Bludgers—one clipped Bridget in the shoulder—and Seth shot the Quaffle through the left hoop after feinting right.

* * *

'It's been fifty minutes and the score is _still_ nil for Slytherin. Ravenclaw has one hundred and sixty points.' Melissa sighed. '_Will someone catch the damn Snitch?!_'

And. Oh, Merlin. Scorpius finally saw it.

The Snitch was hovering near the bottom of the pitch; Gabbie Sterling's back was turned. He had the better broom. There was no chance she would catch up.

Scorpius dived. He dived so quickly that all sounds of Melissa Jordan's commentary, of the crowd, of his teammates, were drowned out by the gust of wind trailing behind him. He couldn't hear anything; he could barely see. All Scorpius was concentrating on was getting that golden ball in his hand. That was all he needed.

That golden ball with its jittery wings.

It was so close. The Snitch was two arm lengths away. Scorpius stretched out his hand. Not far enough. He made a swipe with his arm, but felt nothing. Just before a yell of frustration could escape his lips, there was a flapping feeling. Like somebody hitting his arm with two feathers.

Slowly, careful to avoid all other harm that could come to him in the game, Scorpius reached inside his dark green sleeve...

and produced the Golden Snitch.

'MERLIN! SCORPIUS MALFOY HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! SCORPIUS MALFOY HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH!' Melissa screamed, though it was completely obvious to everybody else. They, too, had eyes. And it seemed that Scorpius Malfoy _had_ caught the Snitch.

Even Professor Longbottom was marvelling, instead of telling Melissa to calm down. Professor Flitwick himself had to lean over and take the microphone from the two of them, calmly announcing, 'Scorpius Malfoy has caught the Golden Snitch, but since such an act is only worth one hundred and fifty points, I am afraid the match goes to Ravenclaw.'

Everybody was yelling. Cordelia's entire team sank back down to the ground and was hugging each other. People were running onto the pitch. James was one of them. He threw his arms around his girlfriend, twirling her around before setting her down and going to join the rest of his team, who were all shrieking and yahooing on their side of the pitch.

Gryffindor had won the Cup!

Fred and Barbara were hugging, clinging to each other for dear life. Albus and Lily were sitting on the ground, unable to move; James was sobbing real tears. Roxanne and Chris were passionately entwined, mouths working against one another furiously.

'Gryffindor in first place, under the captaincy of James Sirius Potter, with six hundred and forty points! Ravenclaw in second place, under the captaincy of Cordelia Alice Gilbert, with four hundred and eighty points! Slytherin in third place, under the captaincy of Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, with three hundred and ninety points; and Hufflepuff in fourth place, under the captaincy of Miles Elsinore Clarke, with one hundred and twenty points!' Professor Sprout continued. 'Remember, team photographs, if you want them, will be taken on the first of June at six o'clock.'

But nobody was listening; they were all celebrating something or another. Gryffindor, especially.

* * *

_**May 28**_

* * *

'Congratulations, Scorpius!' called a seventh-year girl. 'That was a great Snitch capture!'

He was still being congratulated. Patricia supposed he _did_ deserve it; her boyfriend had made Slytherin's one hundred and fifty points yesterday all on his own—that Will Bowen was simply _too_ good a Keeper—and she was incredibly proud of him. She was also quite tired, though, and happy to have her proper Scorpius back. The stressed, Quidditch Captain one didn't compare, really.

They were crossing the Entrance Hall together and Scorpius sighed. 'Still last place for the damned House Cup.'

Patricia rubbed his arm. 'Oh, well. Next year, when you're Head Boy, you'll—'

'—don't joke, Patricia,' Scorpius scolded. 'Al's going to be Head Boy, for certain.'

'Where'd you get that statistic?'

'Where'd you learn the word "statistic"?'

Scorpius looked at her. 'I take Arithmancy... and you mentioned it once after a lesson of Muggle Studies. I am smart.'

'You are.'

* * *

_**May 29**_

* * *

Roxanne walked down the hall blushing. She didn't often blush on Monday mornings, but now she had reason to. It seemed to be all she did. Her mind was so clouded, and not in the stupid Seer sense. She just ... she couldn't think straight.

Molly sidled up to her. 'You _do_ know I'm going to have to be the voice of reason here.'

Roxanne rolled her eyes. 'And I was having _such _a good day.'

'Chris is eighteen.'

'So are you,' Roxanne pointed out. 'So is Rose's boyfriend.'

Molly tucked her hair behind her ear. 'I know that lots of people in the world are eighteen, Rox. But a much less percentage of those people date sixteen-year-olds.'

The two of them entered the Entrance Hall and Roxanne looked around before replying, 'Yes. I know that. But Chris and I aren't necessarily even "dating". We just fancy each other, and we—' She blushed.

'Yeah,' said Molly airily. 'I know.'

'And it's not like he's some random bloke, Molls. You know him. You've known him forever. So have I.'

'I know,' Molly sighed. 'Sorry. I'm just getting all Mother Hen, I guess. A bit jealous.'

Roxanne gasped jokingly. 'She admits it!'

'Just promise me you won't get all giddy, yeah?'

The fifth-year rolled her eyes. 'I'm not some thirteen-year-old tosspot.'

* * *

_**May 30 & 31**_

* * *

To end a month! The menial way!

* * *

_**June 1**_

* * *

**(Heavy Hours)**

* * *

Lily sat alone in her dormitory. Lucy had gone down to breakfast; Alana Harris and her friends had scarpered. Lily herself was in a towel, and she was tired. She was past the stage of "oh my god we won the Quidditch Cup again" and now she was just "thank goodness that's over".

Her birthday was in a few weeks. That was something to look forward to. However, exams were next week. _Next week_. The year was almost over. They were in the final stretch, and her entire mind had died.

Her entire head was blaring, _what is going on?!_

* * *

**(Parachute)**

* * *

Barbara was almost going to kill someone. The most important examinations of her life were next week. They would decide whether or not she could work in the international Quidditch offices or not. She hadn't been reviewing enough, she hadn't been focused. She had had that stupid fight with Fred, and done so many other stupid things, and she should have been revising.

She had seven days, counting the present one, before she had to sit her various exams. She had so many of them. Then after exams, it was—

gone.

It was gone.

"Gone".

She was going to be leaving Hogwarts, and never coming back as a student again. Leaving Hogwarts. What a thought.

* * *

**(Invisible)**

* * *

Albus was having a conversation with Bridget Davies. He had just made her smile, which made him smile. His eyes lit up when he smiled. It was so cripplingly obvious, what was eventually going to happen, that it made Andy sick. Sicker than she already was.

She felt as though the pit of her stomach was gone, vacated—nothing in the world existed but the fact that Albus had just made Bridget smile and that this fact had done the same for him. Andy's insides were nonexistent, when they should have been squirming. Everything was just gone.

She shouldn't have been feeling so jealous. It wasn't like they were dating. They were just friends, if that. But Bridget was so much prettier than her. And boys could say differently all they wanted, but "pretty" was really all that mattered.

* * *

_**June 2**_

* * *

Revision.

* * *

_**June 3**_

* * *

Revision.

* * *

_**June 4**_

* * *

You guessed correctly. (Unless your guess wasn't "revision".)

* * *

_**June 5 & 6**_

* * *

Two more days of revision.

* * *

_**June 7**_

* * *

And on the final day of revision—Lily Potter's fifteenth birthday—a total of eighty two Ravenclaws burst into tears within six hours of one another.


	34. To End A Year

Disclaimer: I am simply a sailor on the ocean of tears sculpted by the hands of J.K. Rowling.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

"**To End A Year"**

**Or**

"**To End A Year—And A Lot of Other Things".**

* * *

_**June 8**_

* * *

The seventh-years piled out of the History of Magic exam, all looking a little worse for wear. Fred Weasley looked very annoyed, James Potter looked very calm, and Barbara Tennant looked extremely glad that the ordeal was over.

'Okay,' Fred admitted. 'I guessed about half that.'

'Compared to Defence, though,' James said, 'how'd you find it?'

Barbara sighed. 'Just so happy they're both over.' Her face lit up with a curious new light. 'Guys,' she said with grandiose realization. 'Guys, we're never going to do History of Magic or Defence _again_.'

Fred and James looked at each other, then turned back to Barbara simultaneously.

'I know this is inappropriate,' said the Head Boy, 'considering we're both very in love with our significant others, and I'm kind of related to yours, but after what you just said, I could probably kiss you.'

Fred sighed. 'I wouldn't blame you.'

'Don't do it, though,' Barbara added quickly, putting her hands out to stop James, even though he had made no movement towards her.

In this moment, Albus and Louis trudged past, both looking very relieved. The sixth-years had just finished their Transfiguration exam, both in theory and in practicality. Both Gryffindors raced off before their housemates could say anything, and at this time, Barbara took it upon herself to cease the happiness of finishing these N.E.W.T.s and begin preparing for the next one.

'What can you study for _now_?' Fred complained.

Barbara would have none of it. She glared at Fred. 'We have Transfiguration and Muggle Studies tomorrow.'

'Muggle Studies,' James said, 'which is easy as hell.'

'Not all of us can be like you and traverse the Muggle world, going out with every girl you see; schmoozing them with magic and whatnot. I have no idea apart from what I've learned. And then Ancient Runes and Charms on Wednesday; Potions and Astronomy on Thursday—I am _terrified_.' Barbara looked around at them both, evidently surprised that neither of them were reacting as severely as she was. 'I can't believe the rest of you think that our lives don't depend on these exams!'

James sighed. 'You're just like Cordelia.' He whispered an aside to Fred, which made his cousin laugh and reply with: 'Because that's just a _tragedy_, isn't it?'

The tone of voice in which Fred said this made Barbara suspicious, but she neglected to comment. Instead, she bade them both goodbye and went to read over her Muggle Studies notes in preparation for the following day, transfiguring goblets into rubber ducks at dinnertime to practice for the other examination.

* * *

_**June 9**_

* * *

'Don't tell me,' Scorpius began, 'your Muggle Studies exam was frightful.'

Patricia rolled her eyes. 'Okay, fine; I won't tell you.' She sighed. 'The reason being that it was probably _nothing_ compared to the hardships you were forced to face in Arithmancy.'

'On the contrary,' said Scorpius, getting up from the coach on which he had been lounging and continuing to simply stand idle; 'I found it quite enjoyable. Arithmancy isn't as hard as everyone thinks.'

'No, I'm pretty sure it's just you who thinks that.'

Scorpius shook his head. 'I debated the subject with Al—he didn't find it that bad either.'

Patricia sighed. 'Perhaps you should just date Albus, then. You two spend so much time together.'

'_Please_,' Scorpius scoffed. 'There are a wealth of things I can do with you that I most certainly can't do with Albus.'

His girlfriend raised her eyebrows. 'Like?'

'Well...' the Quidditch Captain said, leaning over his girlfriend, for she was still sitting on the warm cushioned seat in front of the fire, 'like this.'

For a moment, their lips brushed against one another, but this "moment" was a very brief one. Mostly because Patricia was self-conscious and they were in _the middle of Slytherin common room for crying out loud!_

He couldn't seal away problems with a kiss. He couldn't seal away problems at all. If anything, he created them. And after the year she'd had, Patricia wasn't sure Scorpius's problems were worth the haphazard cure.

* * *

_**June 10**_

* * *

'I want to kill myself.'

Albus nudged her. 'Don't say that when there are people who would.'

Andy nudged him back. 'You know I didn't mean it like that,' she tried, 'I'm just happy to be out of that exam.'

Her companion shrugged, not bothering to respond. He was being increasingly distant lately; picking apart everything she said. Perhaps it was the stress of exams, or perhaps it was something else. Andy didn't like it one bit, whatever it was.

Bridget Davies came past. Her hair was braided and annoyingly perfect. However, she didn't try to interrupt the conversation ensuing between Andy and her top number one favourite Gryffindor; a fact the former was rather happy about.

'What do you have tomorrow?'

Albus didn't respond.

'Exams.'

Still nothing.

'_Albus_.'

'Oh, sorry—what?'

'What exams do you have tomorrow?'

He bit his lip, thinking. 'Just History of Magic, and Astronomy—but that's really just tonight.'

'Oh,' said Andy, thinking it was stupid to have even asked, when she was in his History of Magic class, 'okay, then.'

Sarah Boot and Bridget Davies had chosen the wrong place to stop in the corridor. They finished what was most likely a very riveting conversation, and then Sarah departed, leaving Bridget by herself a little down the way from where Albus and Andy were standing. Almost fate. Andy didn't like it one bit.

She also didn't like the look of apprehension, mixed with excitement, in Al's eyes.

'Go over,' she told him.

Albus scoffed. 'What?'

'You want to go over there. I can tell.' Andy pushed him a bit with her shoulder. 'Don't worry about me. Just go and talk to Bridget.'

'Oh, you really don't mind? Thanks, Andy. You're the best mate a bloke could ask for.'

_Don't worry about me. Just go and talk to Bridget._

_Best mate a bloke could ask for._

Who controlled the universe, and what had she done to offend them?

* * *

_**June 11**_

* * *

'Totally blanked. I can't take tests. I'm going to fail at life. Should I save the world the trouble and just pitch myself off the Astronomy tower?'

Louis ducked around Lottie Flanagan and replied to the girl's best friend, taking her by the shoulders from behind. 'You know, Mel, if you were going to do that, you should've done it last night. There would've even been an audience.'

'Charming,' said Melissa, rolling her eyes halfheartedly. 'I only took History of Magic because your bloody cousin Rose forced me into it,' she added.

Louis pouted. 'You're no fun. At least it's over, yeah?'

Melissa supposed that was good enough for her. Lottie seemed to have disappeared. She found the reason why: Shelley Corner had entered the library.

'You haven't seen my awkward cousin who can't talk to girls to save his life, have you?' she demanded of Louis and Melissa.

Louis shook his head. 'Your dear Kevin seems to have vanished off the face of the Earth.'

Shelley left, leaving a trail of admirers staring behind her as she did so. Louis turned back to Melissa, who was now leaning on the end of a row of shelves.

'That's my cue to go, I'm afraid. Fred's holding a party in the common room and he wants me on first-year duty.'

'"First-year duty"?' Melissa asked.

'Making sure they don't get their hands on Ogden's Finest,' Louis amended. He seemed to take a moment, contemplating the situation. 'You can come with me, if you want. I mean, you're bound to get there at some point, aren't you?'

Melissa shrugged.

'And, come on, you can't really be in the library for a reason. Exams are over. You should be having a bit of fun.'

She nodded; he took not her hand, but certainly her company; and for a moment, everything was quite calm.

* * *

_**June 12**_

* * *

The students filed into the Great Hall on Friday evening, all feeling quite splendid. Why they wouldn't have is a mystery to all people with any kind of sense in this world. Somebody did fall over, though, but it wasn't Kevin Corner—he_ was_ quite close by, though; he was talking to Cordelia about the prospects of him joining the Quidditch team in their seventh year—it was actually Jenna Fawcett. Andy did quite a lot of laughing before hauling her up and assuring her that, no, Professor Dryden hadn't seen.

Professor Sprout stood as everybody sat down, and silence fell over the hall. 'Another fantastic year... almost over!' She allowed time for cheering, which ensued. 'The train will depart to London on the twentieth. But before then, over the next seven days, you will still have plenty to do. The seventh-years will be having their graduating festivities, courtesy of Professor Slughorn, who personally believes their achievements should be celebrated. Professor Slughorn will also host another dinner on the evening of the fifteenth. He encourages you to attend, should you receive an invitation.'

She paused a moment, perhaps dwelling on her disapproval of Slughorn's behaviour, then continued. 'The House Cup results will be announced on the nineteenth, at our ending feast. Ravenclaw is currently in the lead, but only by forty-seven points. There's still time, competitors!'

Sprout asked around to see if the other teachers had any other announcements, and Professor Dryden did.

'So, to summarize, the list of important dates are as follows: June fifteenth, Professor Slughorn's dinner party; June seventeenth, distribution of exam results'—there was a groan from throughout the hall—'June eighteenth, seventh-year graduation ceremonies and, presumably, another party; and finally, the Leaving Feast on June nineteenth, before the train departs on the twentieth. That's all. Eat up.'

And, as always, the house elves provided an excellent feast, and the students most certainly did "eat up".

* * *

_**June 13**_

* * *

'Curious?' James asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cordelia shrugged. 'Boyfriend lures me out onto the Quidditch pitch at eight o'clock in the evening. Am I curious? A little bit. And why are you on your broom? Prepping for the Magpies?'

James shrugged. 'I'm doing a bit of that. But _also_... I was wondering if you'd like to take a ride with me.'

It was quite cold, and Cordelia shivered.

'I've got a coat,' James added, taking off his own and throwing it down to her from a few feet up.

'How romantic,' she said. Not a loving statement, but a statement nonetheless. Cordelia pulled the sleeves up onto her arms as James moved closer to the ground so his girlfriend could climb on behind. When she complied, she asked, 'where is it we're going to, then, Mister Potter?'

James grinned, even though Cordelia couldn't see him. 'How does Hogsmeade sound?'

'Against the rules.'

He laughed. 'It'll be quick, I promise. There's just something I want you to see.'

They began to ascend and Cordelia's eyes widened. 'Wait,' she said suddenly. 'You're not breaking up with me, are you?'

The entire broom came to a halt. James actually turned around in mid-air just to look his girlfriend in the face. 'Why the hell would I be breaking up with you?!'

'You're leaving soon! Seventh-year festivities and whatnot!'

'Why would I be breaking up with you?'

'I can't go with you after Hogwarts—'

James took Cordelia by the shoulders, making sure to look her right in the eye. 'Cordelia. _Why_ would I be breaking up with you?'

She blushed. 'James, it's only logic—'

'Blast logic,' James told her. 'I don't care about that. I have something really important we need to discuss. Okay? Not a break-up. It's all right.'

Cordelia nodded. 'Yeah. What is it, then?'

'Well, if you'll come with me to _Hogsmeade_, just quickly, then—'

She looked conflicted, but decided that, if it was quick, then they would probably be okay.

James descended into the deserted garden on the end of Hogsmeade's main street. It was wreathed with bright orbs of light all around, bathing the whole place in an off-white glow. Cordelia looked around, hoping that James was quick with whatever it was he needed to do.

'Have a look around, if you want,' he told her.

Of course, she _had _been. But now she turned back to her boyfriend, who was very handsome and very charming and _very down on one knee_.

'James, I don't turn seventeen until tomorrow, you know; this is still illegal!'

James grinned. 'I'm not asking you to marry me,' he reassured, standing up. 'I just wanted to see how you'd take it.' He brushed himself off. 'I _do_ have something to tell you, though. And it's really important.'

Cordelia sobered up. She looked solemn to make sure he knew she was. 'Okay. Go ahead.'

James breathed in. He let the air out in a sigh. This was like déjà vu. They had been in the same situation all those months ago, when he told her how he felt. Remembering that night made Cordelia both nostalgic and embarrassed. She forced herself not to dwell on it, and to focus on James.

'You know how... when you meet a person, and they change your life, and then you can't imagine how you ever managed without them?' He didn't ask her to nod, instead continuing, 'lots of people have different ideas of why that is. Because, I mean... Cordelia, you have changed me. So much. You know you have. But it's just... I think that's really something. Because I'm not a very changeable person—everybody knows that... and I know you're really, really important. Whether you think so or not. Which is why... I've realized something. Something I honestly never thought I'd say, or do.'

His pauses now increased with every word. There was one in between each. 'And that is... falling in love.' He stopped momentarily. 'I've fallen in love. With you. And I'm terrified.'

Cordelia beamed. She couldn't believe her own ears. 'Really?'

'Really. I'm in love with you—Merlin, that's odd, isn't it? _I'm in love with you_.'

Cordelia laughed in continued disbelief. 'I—I love you, too!'

'Really? Honestly? Truly?'

'Would I lie to you?'

James pulled her into his arms—and that, ladies and gentleman, was the first night in six years that Cordelia Gilbert missed curfew entirely, and didn't mind a bit.

* * *

_**June 14**_

* * *

'Happy Birthday!'

She chuckled. 'Thanks, Bridget.'

There was an ornate box lying at the end of Cordelia's bed, and upon closer inspection, it turned out to a present from the girls of the dormitory. Everyone had pitched in—including Shelley, who had done so slightly begrudgingly.

'You really shouldn't have done that,' said Cordelia. 'I'm not telling you that just to sound kind, or ungrateful, but we leave for home in a week and I don't think I deserve to get presents before that.'

Sarah rolled her eyes. 'When do we ever listen to anything boring old Cordelia Gilbert says, though?'

'Boring old Cordelia Gilbert _who didn't get back to our room until early this morning_,' Shelley stated suspiciously, coming out of the bathroom in a silky dressing gown. She was using a very large hairbrush to straighten out her post-shower wet hair, which was already slightly curly.

Cordelia blushed. 'I'm not the new you, Shelley; don't worry.'

'Because that connotes...'

Bridget's eyes bugged out. '_You didn't—_!'

Cordelia, who had been trying to stand up to get her present and the box in which it would be found, promptly lost depth perception and crashed headfirst into one of the four posts on her bed.

'_No!_'

* * *

_**June 15**_

* * *

Slughorn's dinner party was another of those he always seemed to have. It was neither here nor there by description. The seventh-years went because they would never have to again, but then left at nine o'clock to go and drink sweetened mead up on the Astronomy tower. This was Fred's idea.

* * *

_**June 16**_

* * *

They found the two Slytherins who had accosted Elena Finnigan.

"They" meaning "the staff" and "the two Slytherins" meaning Ezekiel Podcroft and Morei Arty. Both boys were in fifth year, and had been dared to get Lily Potter by herself in a hallway, then get photographs of both of them kissing her. Well, if we're honest, "kissing" was the watered down version they gave the teachers when they finally came forward to confess.

Needless to say, they had been almost murdered before actually receiving their notification of expulsion. Professor Longbottom was particularly lenient with this incident, when usually he would have told the violent students off for stooping down to Ezekiel and Morei's level. Instead, he gave Chris Wood a high five.

* * *

_**June 17**_

* * *

Albus shrugged, overlooking Andy's exam results. The Hufflepuff had received two Os (Muggle Studies and Herbology), two Es (Astronomy and Divination), four As (Defence, Charms, Transfiguration and Potions) and a T (History of Magic... but really). 'Nice job.'

Andy's face did not seem pleased when she stated: 'Cordelia got nine Os. Out of nine.'

'And Scorpius and I got eight!' Albus reminded. He scratched his chin. 'Both did dreadfully in History of Magic... but it's not as though that subject matters. We'll all drop it next year.'

Patricia, who was also in the Room of Requirement at this time, notified them that she had received two Os, one E, three As and a P. The Os being for Muggle Studies and Astronomy; the E for Potions; the As for Defence, Charms and Transfiguration; and the P for History of Magic.

'Look,' said Albus, checking his wristwatch, 'must be off. I told Br—_Rose_ that we could compare results.'

He left, and Andy and Patricia looked at each other.

* * *

_**June 18**_

* * *

It was seven o'clock in the evening; the sky was purple, and the entirety of the gap between the grounds and the Black Lake was decorated with pristine white seats, separated into four for the different houses of the school. There was a large stage at the front of the mass, and all the teachers were sitting off to one side. Headmistress Sprout stood at the podium to the left side of the stage; all of the seventh-years were gathered at the front of their respective houses. A couple of groups of parents were gathered in a different seating area, to both sides of the students, with gold chairs rather than pearl. Harry Potter was sitting in the front with his beautiful wife Ginny, and beside them was George and Angelina Weasley, accompanied by a surplus of ex-Hogwarts students who were ready to watch their sons and daughters leave the place for good.

Headmistress Sprout began slightly shakily. 'Hello, parents, faculty, seventh-years and students. We are here today to celebrate the achievements of our wonderful seventh-years. Nobody can express my utmost respect for you students; I am so proud to see you go out into the world, where I'm sure most of you will make an improvement.' She sniffed, apparently quite upset already. 'Now, I would like to call up our Head Boy and Head Girl to say a few words before the ceremonies begin.'

James stood, taking Barbara's hand and helping her up amidst raucous cheering from all parties. The Head Boy had, arguably, never looked better. He stood tall in red Gryffindor robes, a pointed hat of red cloth sticking up on the back of his head, and dark ruffled hair poking out from each of its sides, for his hair and grown long and shaggy in comparison to when the year began. There, grinning, he and Barbara stepped up onto the stage and took their places at the podium.

Barbara spoke first.

'Coming to Hogwarts seven years ago,' she began, 'seems like a distant memory. In those seven years, I have made friends, played sport, and learned things that, before this experience, I never would have dreamed of. But,' she said, 'like all wonderful adventures... this time must come to an end.'

James stepped forward to continue, and while everybody expected him to make some kind of joke, he did not.

'Sometimes,' said James, 'the ending is what makes an event so special. It has to come to a close for you to fully appreciate how incredible it was, in all its entirety.' He paused. 'I don't think any of us, up until tonight, realized how good this school has been to us. It's the basis for our development. It helps us to learn success...'

He looked down at Chris and Fred, both of whom raised their hands in salute.

'...to build understanding...'

Scorpius, thankfully, was already looking at him.

'...even to fall in love.'

And there was Cordelia; smiling, though close to tears. James grinned back at her, not admitting even to himself that he, too, was on the brink of crying.

Barbara came to continue. 'But regardless of the fact that our time here is over, we need to celebrate the sheer truth that everything that happened was, for the most part, nothing short of fantastic.'

'And that, my friends,' James concluded, 'is what makes all the difference.'

They left the stage to momentous applause; even the Slytherins cheered. Headmistress Sprout returned to her position, a little teary. She began to call each of the students up by name, in the same order they had been Sorted in first year. By the time it reached "Tennant", Barbara was sobbing. She crossed the stage in tears, apologizing to everyone she met, and shook her Professors' hands. Felix and Jess followed, then Fred and Molly. It was a time for endings.

A time of goodbyes.

* * *

_**June 19**_

* * *

Gryffindor won the House Cup, but only by 36 points.

Ravenclaw came in second, 179 points ahead of Hufflepuff.

Slytherin was last, 23 points behind.

It was probably a good thing Ezekiel and Morei got kicked out before this announcement. They wouldn't have boarded the Hogwarts Express alive.

* * *

_**June 20**_

* * *

Rose Weasley loved the smell of Hogsmeade Station at ten o'clock in the morning. She loved the musk of it, the slight fog, and the flurry of movement, be it of humans or animals alike. Right now, in this moment, she loved the smell of Hogsmeade Station because she was inside the train and the only aroma nearby was that of her boyfriend's jumper.

Will had pulled her into an almost crushing hug, and the two of them were walking like robots towards a compartment where Liz and Lottie were already seated. Melissa was nowhere to be found.

The door opened with something of a rattle and both Gryffindor girls looked up at their friends' entry. Will focused on Lottie. 'Nick's still looking for you.'

'That's unfortunate,' said Lottie disdainfully, tossing her curly hair behind her shoulder and helping herself to one of Liz's lemon drops.

'Oi!' protested Liz, snatching the little brown paper bag away from her friend. 'Mum sent me those for the trip back—you know how she is on owling!'

'Yes, and you'll be back with mother dearest in a few hours, so you can have all the lemon drops you want when you get home!'

Liz begrudgingly agreed and turned to Will and Rose, who still hadn't taken seats. 'Want a lemon drop, Bowen?' He looked a little hesitant, but Liz encouraged him. 'Come on, isn't graduation supposed to motivate you to exercise your freedom with new opportunities?'

Will shrugged and took a lemon drop from the baggie. 'Something like that.'

'So,' Lottie began, plopping herself down beside Liz so that Rose and Will could sit together. 'What do you two plan to do this summer?'

They looked at each other. Neither had really thought about the inevitable break-up. Will was going to work with Barbara in the International Affairs Office (considering both of them had passed their N.E.W.T.s without getting anything below an A); Rose was, of course, returning to Hogwarts come September.

'You don't know, do you?'

'Oh, shut up, Lottie. Don't spoil their freedom.'

At this time, Melissa entered the compartment. Her hair was tightly tied, and her sweater sporting a Muggle superhero she probably hadn't heard of. She looked at the four seats occupied in the compartment and said, 'oh. Well, thanks, guys.'

Will stood up. 'No, er—I was just saying a short goodbye to Rose.' He looked down at his girlfriend, whose hand he was still holding. 'See you on the platform, yeah?'

Rose nodded. 'Of course.'

He squeezed her hand quickly and then departed. Melissa sank into the vacancy Will had left in a matter synonymous to lethargy.

'What's got you all tired out?'

She sighed. 'I don't know... you guys will probably think this is weird, but... I just—the seventh-years are _leaving_. That'll be us next year.'

Liz rolled her eyes. 'Don't get sentimental on us _now_, Jordan. We've still got to spend a train ride with you.'

* * *

'You're coming to mine tomorrow night, yeah?'

Patricia nodded. 'Before you make a sick joke; yes, that's the plan.'

Scorpius stretched out, so that his feet were on Albus's lap, pushed against the window. The Gryffindor began to stroke them through Scorpius's Oxfords. Andy, who was sitting opposite, bit her lip.

'Good,' said the blond Slytherin, closing his eyes as he rested his head on his folded arms. 'My parents are going on a trip to France and I'll have the house to myself.'

Andy choked. 'You're not planning on shagging her in that cabin of yours, Malfoy?'

'Don't tell me what I can and can't do.'

'Don't tell him _who_ he can and can't do,' Albus chimed in.

Patricia told them all to shut up.

'Make me,' replied Scorpius.

Albus and Andy looked at each other. They sighed. Simultaneously, both sang: '_sexual tension_.'

* * *

Lots of people said goodbye on the platform that day.

But, a sad couple of stupid procrastinators, James and Cordelia weren't part of that number.


	35. June and July

**Disclaimer:** This is getting old. So is crying over J.K. Rowling.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

"**June and July"**

**Or**

"**Good Girls Don't Let People See Them Cry".**

* * *

_**June 30**_

* * *

It had been just over a week since Fred had boarded the Hogwarts Express. His life had changed exponentially since then, however. The following Monday post-graduation had been spent in Diagon Alley, painting and stocking up the apartment above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. That had been fun—having James around had almost managed to blot out the sudden disappointment that he would never be returning to the school he held so dear. Sure, for years Fred had complained about it, but now that he was never going back... Hell, even History of Magic would be more bearable.

He was now sitting in the small living room, where he and Barbara had spent the night seven months ago. It seemed strange that Fred would actually be _living_ in this place now. That it wasn't just one of those houses you loved going to and never spent enough time in.

'Don't tell me you're actually _missing_ it.'

Barbara was leaning against the open doorway. Her arms were crossed over her chest, covering up the Holyhead Harpies t-shirt below her red jumper. She looked at Fred with something like pity, or compassion.

'I never thought I'd say so,' Fred admitted, 'but that seems to be the case. I am missing Hogwarts.'

'History of Magic?' Barbara puzzled, joining him at the table.

He scoffed. 'Let's not take it _that _far.'

She laughed, but it quickly turned into a sigh. She fidgeted with the cuffs of her shirt. 'You know, Jess is having a thing on Sunday night—you know, a pre-Spain party?'

'Ah. Spain.' Fred sighed. He had almost forgotten about that. 'We're scheduled to leave next Wednesday, aren't we?'

Barbara nodded. 'That's the plan.' Noticing that he was not as interested or enthusiastic as she would have expected, she leaned her hand across the table to take his. 'Come on, it'll be fun. What's wrong?'

'I don't know. You'll think I'm stupid.'

'Try me.'

'...it feels wrong. That we're—'

'—we're not going back. Yeah.'

'But I'm happy we're doing this.'

'Yes. This is... a little fast, I'll admit... but it's convenient.'

"This" was the part of fate that had degreed Diagon Alley a good place to build both the Weasley shop and Gringott's, which was quite important in any wizard's life. "This" was also the short distance between the Alley and the Ministry, but this could be ruled out through the use of Apparition. In conclusion: Fred and Barbara had decided to move in together.

This fact had, of course, prompted many inappropriate jibes from James, but they were all ignored because the ex-Head Boy was moving into Number 12, Grimmauld Place as soon as he could. That took up most of their time now—transferring belongings from parents' houses to their own new ones. It wasn't as though they _had_ to move out. The graduators were eighteen at greatest, and it isn't a terrible crime to live with your parents past eighteen. However, it _was_ easier to start your own independent life when people weren't looking over your shoulder.

'Do you know what else is weird?' Fred asked, standing and beginning to pace around the room.

Barbara showed signs of response, and so her boyfriend continued without interruption.

'It's strange to come into this house and not have James and Felix and Chris and Quentin and Molly and Jess and Elena and everyone just sort of _there_, you know?'

'I know,' Barbara sighed. 'But that's life.'

'I don't like it.'

'Don't act as if they're dead, Fred. We'll see them next week,' she reassured. Then, in a sing-song: '_Spain!_'

'Right.' Fred concluded. 'Spain.'

* * *

_**July 3**_

* * *

'Do you want to go somewhere?'

This, coming from Scorpius, as he and Patricia sat on the acre of green grass behind the former's Wiltshire manor.

'What does that entail?'

'Leaving this place and going to a different one,' Scorpius defined.

Patricia rolled her eyes. 'Why, though?'

Her boyfriend shrugged. 'Why not?'

'Well, if you take _that_ view on life...'

'You really shouldn't expect me to be logical, Patricia, you've known me eight years and if you're still hoping for me to be in any way proper, then you'd best prepare for disappointment.'

She sighed, inspecting the intricate swirling patterns on her skirt. 'Why am I not surprised?'

Scorpius investigated her face, looking quite concerned. 'Have I done something to offend you?'

'No—why?'

'You don't seem _okay_.'

'Well, I am.'

'Are you?'

'Yes.'

'You sure?'

'Yes.'

'No?'

'Yes.'

'_Yes _to "no", or _yes_ to "yes"?'

'Don't be stupid.'

'Do you want to go somewhere?'

'Not right now.'

'Well, then,' Scorpius asked. 'I can think of something even better.'

He stood; then, bending low like a butler, took Patricia's hand and helped her up. She looked at him quizzically, but Scorpius shook his head. 'No, no, no. Let's not spoil the secret.'

'It won't be a secret for much longer,' Patricia pointed out, trying to extract her hand from his grasp. This, Scorpius did not relinquish. Instead, he moved a hand to her waist.

'Let's dance,' said he; in all seriousness.

Patricia raised her eyebrows, certainly unimpressed. 'There's no music.'

Scorpius sighed. 'You're hopelessly melodramatic. No imagination.'

But he pulled out his wand anyway, pointed it at the cabin down the way where all of his best music was stored, and a beautiful, up-tempo song began to play. It was like the best of happy memories—the kind of thing that makes you all sentimental, and want to enjoy life, but at the same time do nothing but adventure and follow your dreams. To never look back.

They danced around the garden for a while, feeling nothing but the cloth of each others' clothing and the soft, ticklish prickle of grass on their bare feet, until a moment when the clouds seemed to draw back, and the sky began to sprinkle down with rain.

'You are an amazing dancer,' Patricia told Scorpius.

He bowed. 'Pureblood families have their tricks.'

The rain began to fall harder, and soon their hair was soaking wet. Patricia's clung to her head and clothes, which were sticking to her skin; dark purple when they had once been lavender. Her skirt shaped itself with her legs. But she was smiling, and that was the best kind of Patricia.

Scorpius leaned over. 'You look beautiful.'

Patricia blushed. 'You're just saying that because we're together in the rain and you're nostalgic.'

'No,' said Scorpius. 'I'm also a romantic. With a bucket list.'

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek; a gesture at which she laughed and still felt giddy. Both of their hands clasped together and they used these to pull each other closer.

Against her lips, at the last moment, Scorpius murmured, 'I love you.'

Patricia chuckled. 'I love you, too. Even if you're pretentious.'

'_Especially_ if I'm pretentious,' Scorpius corrected, and then he kissed her.

* * *

_**July 6**_

* * *

'It's official,' Jess Thomas decided. 'I am never going to leave.'

She tilted her chin up so to better absorb the sun: something that one did not often encounter in Britain. Despite only being in Spain one day, she was absolutely enjoying herself. The fact that she could even sit outside wearing a bikini was a miracle.

Elena, sitting beside, nodded in agreement.

'This is _certainly_ more relaxing than whatever Felix and James are getting up to,' Molly pitched in, eyes closed in contentment. 'Where did they say they were going again?'

'Seeing the sights, apparently,' said Jess. 'More like checking out pubs.'

'Or girls.'

Molly laughed. 'I don't think "girls" are a probable answer, Elena. James has a girlfriend, and Felix hasn't been on the market since about second year.'

'He _hasn't_?' Elena asked concernedly. She had opened her eyes and was now sitting up, looking intently at Jess and Molly, like there was something they hadn't told her.

'Of course not,' said Jess, not bothering to elaborate. She hadn't batted an eyelash. 'I thought everybody knew.'

'Clearly, that's not the case,' Molly observed.

Elena was still looking at them. 'Aren't you even going to tell me?' she queried. 'You know, if it's been so long and I've never noticed?'

Jess scoffed. 'You certainly haven't.'

'No, shut up—who _is_ this girl, then? Felix's one.'

Molly and Jess glanced at each other.

'She's _gorgeous_, and the smartest girl you'll ever meet—'

'—and so nice, too, it's almost unfair—'

'—they're always together; it's a wonder you don't know her—'

'—she's certainly a cut above the rest—'

They continued these out-of-this-world descriptions for a minute or two more, leaving Elena open-mouthed.

She gaped. 'Felix fancies _Barbara_?'

Molly actually swore. 'I can't take this anymore.' Then she retreated to the room she shared with the other two girls, shaking her head.

* * *

'You're sure you don't mind this?' Barbara asked, folding back the covers of her bed that night. 'You wouldn't rather be with the guys?'

Fred shrugged. 'Can't be anything to talk about that we didn't cover over the last seven years.' He pulled back his side of the sheets, waiting a moment in the dimly lit darkness. 'It's nine o'clock,' he said with a check of his wristwatch. '_Oh my god we've turned boring._'

The two of them looked at each other, sudden realization etched over both faces. Fred grabbed Barbara's hand and pulled her out of the room, through the corridor and downstairs to the living room, where they found James, Jess, Felix and Chris.

'Stop what you're doing,' Fred said seriously. 'Get your coats. Barbs and I have just realized that we're sixty-seven, and that our youth ended with Hogwarts. Which is, clearly, a massive calamity. A Spanish pub run is of the utmost importance.'

James jumped up. 'I'll get Embry!'

Jess raced off to notify Elena and Molly, who emerged moments later looking apprehensive. Quentin followed James back into the living room, obviously extremely excited that they would be getting some kind of night on the town so quickly.

'We're going out,' Fred said again. 'Right now.'

'Apparition?' Chris asked.

Barbara shrugged. 'I could do with a walk.'

* * *

It was eleven o'clock now. The boys had gone to get themselves more drinks on the other side of the large pub, leaving Barbara, Molly, Elena and Jess alone with the music. They were making conversation on the topic of how things were going now that Hogwarts was done when a pair of Spanish youths approached them.

'You are English?' one asked, heavily accented.

Molly nodded. 'Hola.'

'What is that you are drinking?' the other asked Barbara.

'Er...'

'She has a boyfriend,' said Jess, 'but _I—_'

'—have a wonderful boyfriend who is back now,' came James's voice. 'So we should probably go. Right, guys?'

Felix slid an easy arm around Elena. 'I think that's about right. What do you think, hon'?'

'Yeah,' said Fred, kissing Barbara on the cheek. 'It's time for that, isn't it?'

Molly grinned at Chris, who took her hand.

A few moments later, they were out on the street.

'That's not fair!' Jess told James, swatting at him. 'Those guys weren't _awful_.'

'Hey,' Felix warned. 'Brother here.'

Molly laughed. 'I think we've had enough fun for one night.'

'Enough fun?' Chris echoed. He still had hold of Molly's hand, and he used it to twirl her around like a ballroom dancer. Her dark purple summer dress swirled with the movement, and she curtsied.

They were back at the villa minutes later, all quite satisfied with the night out. In fact, they were just about to head to bed when Felix realized: 'where the hell is Quentin?'

'S-s-s-speak of the D-Devil...' Quentin slurred, entering the room, 'I have b-b-been here since about t-ten o'clock... m-my new friend S-Sofia just l-left, actually... gorgeous, she was. _Gorgeous_.'

He then proceeded to collapse onto the floorboards.

'Okay, mate,' said Chris reassuringly. 'Let's get you to bed.'

* * *

_**July 8**_

* * *

Albus hugged Andy, and he was so tall by comparison that she had to tiptoe. 'Is it bad that I feel like it's been months?' he asked.

'Can't bear to be apart, huh? Not even for a few weeks?'

The two of them headed into the Leaky Cauldron, ignoring the group of people who had stopped in their shopping at the sight of Albus Severus Potter. Unfortunately, this was when Andy's day switched from good to bad, and then bad to worse; for who was inside the Leaky Cauldron but Cordelia Gilbert and Bridget Davies?

It might have been Andy's jealousy or it might have been the truth, but Bridget looked exceptionally beautiful. Her hair was loosely plaited and her jeans form-fitting; the sloppy beige sweater would have made Andy look pudgy, but it highlighted how thin Bridget was. Albus almost stopped in his tracks, and his companion noticed it.

Unfortunately, Andy couldn't make up an excuse to leave, for in that moment Cordelia sighted them.

'Al? Andy?'

'Hey, Cordelia!' Albus hurried over, greeting first Cordelia and then Bridget. 'Bridge.'

'Unoriginal,' she sang in response.

But Andy knew she was loving the attention.

'What brings you two here?' asked Cordelia, after inviting Albus and Andy to sit at their table. 'Assuming you didn't run into each other by chance.'

Albus shrugged. 'I don't know. Wanted to see a friend, I guess. And Lou's in France, Scorpius is spending every waking moment with Patricia, so...'

'You wanted to see a friend and you didn't think of calling on me?' Bridget said. 'Affronted.'

Andy had to fight the urge not to rip Bridget's braid from its roots, and instead went to order a drink. Hannah Longbottom was tending to the bar, and the woman's bright eyes lit up even more when she saw who was coming.

'Andy!' she said pleasantly, watching both the approaching teenager and the mugs in the sink, which were rinsing each other out. 'Will I be seeing you round this summer?'

Andy shrugged. 'Maybe. I haven't got very much to do otherwise.'

'Want to earn a few Sickles now?' Hannah asked craftily.

'With all due respect, Hannah, I think that's _illegal_.'

Hannah laughed. 'No, no—I just need you to get that girl with the braid away from Albus.'

Andy snorted. '_What?! Why?!_'

'Well, you don't like her, do you?'

'Am I that transparent?'

'Just a little bit.' Hannah poured Andy a glass of champagne and butterbeer, mixed together, which the latter thought was quite brilliant. 'Now. Do you want the Sickles or not?'

Andy rolled up her sleeves and took her drink from the surface of the bar. 'You're not seriously going to give me money for making someone leave your pub, are you? That's some incredibly twisted business—I'm not even out of Hogwarts. Would you rather I was in Azkaban?'

Hannah shook her head. 'You are _ridiculous_.'

'Says the woman—'

'Just go.'

'_Fine_.'

Andy returned to the table as Bridget laughed at something Cordelia had said. The table seemed slightly crowded, but that was probably just Andy's imagination, or dislike for Bridget. Aware of her mission, the bushy-haired girl reassessed the situation.

'What's that you're drinking?' Bridget asked her. 'Doesn't look like butterbeer to me.'

'Oh,' said Andy, noticing that her first name had not been used in the address. She readjusted her posture —for she was in the seat beside Albus and she wanted very much to remind Bridget of this fact —and then continued: 'it's not. Hannah mixed me something new.'

'Is there alcohol in that?' Bridget interrogated.

'Probably.' Andy shrugged, taking a sip. 'Why should that matter?'

'Oh, well, let's just say it's a good thing you don't play Quidditch, because alcohol can do _awful_ things to flyers... right, Al?'

Looking very uncomfortable to be brought into what was very obviously an altercation, Albus started. 'What? Oh. I don't know. I don't drink.'

'For the best,' Bridget said, as if that proved her point.

'Well,' said Andy, and the edge in her voice was increasing, 'I don't know if Quidditch has anything to do with this, and it might just be my horrible habit of alcoholism, but sometimes... when I talk to other girls... they just all of a sudden get really _angry_ at me, or something...'

'Oh,' Bridget huffed. 'That's really rich, Fawcett. Because, you see, you don't _have_ any friends. So that's probably why.'

'Come on, Bridget...' said Cordelia uncomfortably. 'Don't —'

'This is not a good time, Cordelia,' Bridget snapped. She stood up. 'Now, _if_ you don't mind, I'm going home. _Bye, Al_.'

She stormed out of the pub, slamming the door closed behind her. Andy returned to the bar, where Hannah handed her three Sickles. 'Convincing,' said the bartender.

'I had motivation.'

She returned to her table, where Cordelia and Albus were talking very emotionally. At her sitting, Albus turned and said, 'what was all that for, Andy?'

It wasn't an angry statement. Perhaps that was what made Andy feel so bad. If he'd been mad, or frustrated, or something other than disappointed and hurt and misunderstanding, then she would have probably been able to accept her behaviour as wrong. But Al didn't sound angry. It made her feel worse than she probably should have.

'I don't know,' she said lamely, looking down at her feet. 'But you have to admit, _she_ started it ! The drinking thing!'

'Then you might've thought about ending it, yeah?'

Andy sighed. 'You don't understand, Al.'

'I don't know if I _want_ to.' He paused. 'Cordelia, why are you looking at us like that?'

Cordelia's expression was wistful, vague, unreadable. 'Christmas,' was all she said. 'This is like Christmastime.'

'I'm sorry,' began Albus, 'but what part of this is exactly _celebratory_?'

'No, not _that_. I don't mean it in the good way. Just... December. That's what it reminds me of. December.'

'Then, by all means , do tell!'

Cordelia stood up and gathered her coat. 'I don't think I will, actually.' She scruffed Albus's hair and gave Andy a quick squeeze. 'I'll just leave you two to your thoughts.'

* * *

_**July 10**_

* * *

'How long have we been here?' Felix asked one day over breakfast. He sat on the deck, overlooking the pool, overlooking a fantastic garden on a mountain, overlooking one of those beautiful Spanish cities you can only imagine if you're there. He looked over at Elena for confirmation, for they were alone; just to check if she was listening.

'I don't know,' she said, because she _had_ been listening. 'About five, six days?'

'And, in that time, how many Spanish girls has Quentin had over?'

Elena laughed. 'Too many.'

'And, in that time, how many times have Fred and Barbara kissed?'

'Too many.'

'And, in that time, how many times have I told you that I love you?'

'Too few.'

And then they were kissing.

Elena's berry yogurt flew off in all directions as the bowl was flung out of her grasp; the entire table at which Felix had been eating was overturned, and while he had leapt out of his chair to get to her, Elena fell out of her sunbathing, leaned-back deckchair and onto the floor, where she and Felix continued to kiss until there was an awkward throat-clear from the threshold of the living room.

Felix and Elena sprang apart; the latter readjusted her sundress as the pair stared at Jess, wide-eyed and red in the face.

She shrugged nonchalantly. 'Had to happen sooner or later.'

Then Jess turned back into the house and went to make herself some cereal, leaving Felix and Elena to bask in their disbelief.

'So you two were going at it on _my aunt's deck?_'

James threw a spare pair of boxers at Quentin for his lack of tact. 'Don't make it sound vulgar, Embry.'

'Are you going to ask her to be your girlfriend, then?' Chris asked.

'Are you going to ask Roxanne?' Fred asked.

Chris blushed. '...I... er... well, if it'd happened _sooner_ —it's just—we're not at—'

'We're not at Hogwarts anymore,' Fred finished. 'Yeah. I know.' He sighed. 'That's a good answer, Wood. Because, to be honest, I wanted you to say "no".'

'We're not at Hogwarts anymore,' Felix repeated. He was in a state of shock, still.

'_You _know that,' James said to Fred. 'I just hope Rox does.'

Chris suddenly got incredibly shy and didn't speak for the rest of the evening, but that didn't really matter because everybody cared about the fact that Felix had snogged Elena and that they both _finally_ knew about each others' feelings. Jess and Molly actually moved out of their room and agreed to sleep on the couch so Felix and Elena could have "nice alone time".

(In reality, this was just the two of them feeling extremely awkward and then doing some kissing and then some talking about post-Hogwarts life and then some more kissing.)

* * *

_**July 12**_

* * *

**TROUBLE IN PARADISE?**

**By Mia Daly**

_Just when we thought everything was going well for Fred Weasley and Barbara Tennant, something happens to shoot them back on the rocks!_

_Weasley and Tennant (pictured above) are currently on holiday in Spain with some of their Hogwarts friends (including cousins Molly Weasley and James Potter), and reports have come to our agency in the masses! Last week, Tennant was in a Spanish bar with her friends, when she was approached by a gang of young men, all of whom praised her on her looks, buying her drinks and whispering things in her ear that we'll assure you simply aren't appropriate!_

_She actively responded to these "sweet nothings" until the return of her boyfriend and his mates, a point at which Tennant looked extremely guilty and would not look Weasley in the eye. At least she has some remorse, right?_

_On the same night, James Potter jokingly stated that he is now dating former Hogwarts classmate Jess Thomas. Witch Weekly cannot tell you if this is confirmed, due to the fact Potter still swears he is in a relationship with vivacious seventeen-year-old Cordelia Gilbert. (Another doomed relationship, in our eyes.)_

_Before departing on this Spanish expedition, Tennant and Weasley moved in together. They now share a flat in Diagon Alley. We won't give you the full address, because we respect their privacy, but let's just say it's not exactly hard to spot. Will they still be lying to themselves upon return to London, once real life has sunk in? They're not at Hogwarts anymore. Cutesy love will have to face hardships in the real world. Let's just see how they fare with that._

_But, honestly, if Tennant doesn't clean up her act and learn to appreciate what an amazing man she has in love with her, then Witch Weekly thinks it would be in Fred's best interest to ship out. As fast as possible._

* * *

'That Daly _bitch_!' cried Rose.

She and Roxanne sat in the garden of the Burrow, which they had just finished de-gnoming. The two girls looked at each other, equally furious.

'When do they get back from Spain again?' Rose demanded.

Roxanne wracked her brains. 'The fifteenth.'

Once more, Rose cursed. 'That means we've got two days to destroy every copy of this article. I know our family's stopped reading it, but that doesn't mean _Witch Weekly_ won't find a way to get this to Barbara. They _know where they live_!'

'And this crap's the last thing they need after a nice holiday! For one, Barbara would _never _do something like that to Fred. Not with some Spanish arsewipe!'

'_Exactly_!'

The back door of the Burrow flew open and both girls commenced a prayer that this was not their grandmother, and that she had not heard their foul language. Which, thankfully, it wasn't. Instead, Lily stomped into view. She looked stern, and slightly sooty.

'Merlin!' the fifteen-year-old fumed. Her hands curled into fists. 'You've got the _Witch Weekly_ thing about Fred, haven't you?!'

Rose and Roxanne nodded.

'Good! Because I've got one, too!' Lily screeched. 'They sent one with an owl to Twelve Grimmauld Place! They must know James is moving there... I swear, if I hadn't been poking around...!'

She joined them on the grass.

'But what are we going to do?! Fred and Barbs can't _see_ it, but odds are they've sent at least fifty to the Diagon Alley shop —and the Hogsmeade one!'

'I know—'

A loud popping sound interrupted Roxanne, and Will Bowen appeared in the garden, not ten feet from where the girls sat. It became apparent in that moment, to Lily and Roxanne at least, that Rose was wearing make-up. She did not do so often; at least, not when she was at the Burrow. Her clothing was also strangely stylish.

'Will!' Rose called, jumping up to give him a hug and a peck on the cheek.

'Hey,' he greeted. Then, polite: 'Roxanne, Lily.' Will paused. 'I didn't interrupt anything, did I? You said three o'clock—'

'—No, you're fine. Not interrupting at all,' said Rose. 'Right on time.'

'You have a date?' asked Roxanne.

Rose nodded. 'You two,' she instructed, 'keep conspiring, once I'm gone.'

'"Conspiring"?' Will echoed, incredulous. 'Is there something I should be worrying about?'

'Nope,' said Rose brightly. 'Not you, at least. Let Fred and Barbara worry.'

'Tabloid?'

The three girls nodded, then Lily looked curious.

'I'm up to date,' Will said proudly.

And, with a quick goodbye, he and Rose Disapparated.

* * *

_**July 15**_

* * *

Diagon Alley: above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Approximately nine in the evening.

Barbara and Fred stood in the kitchen of their tiny apartment. Both were noticeably worse for wear.

'I don't want to fight with you—'

'Then don't!' begged Fred.

'But I really need to say this and it's important and I just—it's—'

'Barbs, if you don't want to argue, then—'

'Fred,' Barbara cried, 'I—I can't—they made me sound like a _slut_, Fred! Like I wanted those guys saying those things to me! Things they never even _said_! Those blokes said "hello" and asked if we were English! I never said _one thing_ to them and now _Witch Weekly's _making it sound like I was ready to sleep with them!'

'I know that—'

'So you agree?!' she screeched.

'No, stop twisting my words!'

'I know,' snapped Barbara, her mood deteriorating from anger to self-loathing with the passing seconds. 'I'm being stupid and I know that everybody in the damned country probably hates me—wait, nope, no "probably"—they _do_! Everybody thinks I did those things, Fred! Everybody who hears about this will believe it, because of everything else _Witch Weekly_ has said!'

'Barbara, calm down—'

Which, of course, was the worst possible thing to say.

'_I will not – calm – down!_'

'Okay, _sorry_ —'

Barbara clutched at her hair, which was partially hanging over her face. She looked at her boyfriend, pushing her arms towards him in massive gestures. 'Don't you _get_ it, Fred?! They've probably got people listening in right now!' She made a frustrated sound, almost a small scream. 'They've probably got some kind of device our house—they've probably had it in here since last Christmas! Perhaps even for _years_!'

Silence, then a sob.

'Oh, Merlin... Barbs, please don't...'

She sat on the floor of the kitchen, on the small step up into the corridor. She was hunched over, and Fred couldn't see her face. 'D-don't t-_touch_ me.'

'Then don't _cry_.'

'Then don't let them _do_ this!' she yelled, her voice twisted and warped by emotion.

In a sudden movement, Barbara stood, lunging away from Fred's grasp. She dashed to their bedroom and slammed the door shut. Fred heard her spit out a spell and then loud sobbing.

He bit his lip, swallowed, then walked slowly to the door with his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.

'Barbs.'

Sniff. 'Don't.'

'Don't _what_?' Fred asked slowly. 'What part of this is my fault?'

'None of it!' Barbara shouted through the door. 'That's why I'm such a bitch! Because I'm yelling at you and you haven't done anything wrong! Because you deserve so much better than this and because I'm ruining everything by getting _affected_ by what those reporters think of me! Of the lies they create!'

'Oh...' Words stuck in Fred's throat. 'Oh, Barbs, no. That's not your fault.'

'But it is!' She argued, and he could hear her voice even through the thick-paneled door. 'All of it is! Because I'm not like you!'

Fred stopped. 'Not like me, how?'

The door creaked open. Barbara appeared in the slit, with extremely red eyes and a regretful expression on her face.

'Barbara,' Fred said again, his voice controlled. 'What did you mean "not like me"?'

'It doesn't _matter_!'

'_Yes, it does!_' Fred shouted. 'Yes it bloody well does! It makes all the goddamn difference!' He found himself speechless for a moment, but recovered quickly. 'Barbara—say what you have to say. And it _does_ matter. Because it separates _you_ from _them_!'

Barbara shut the door on him. Fred heard a clicking lock, but he wouldn't have it. The door was blasted off its hinges and Barbara leapt back in fright, letting out a shriek.

'Barbara. Tell me what you were going to say. _Why aren't you like—_'

'—_because I'm not used to this!_ I'm not! Fred—okay?! I haven't had to grow up with tabloids following my every move, there for every waking moment—it didn't even happen to me until we started dating! I didn't _ask _for this—'

'_What—_and you think the rest of us did?!' Fred shouted back. 'You think my family _wanted_ this? Where would we have signed up?! This isn't Quidditch practice, Barbara—it's not based on talent, or skill, or anything like that—_it's inherited, and we didn't want it!_'

Barbara sent all the windows behind her exploding, breaking into and ricocheting around the room. She could feel herself getting little cuts, but it honestly didn't compare to what she was going through right now.

'Oh, _yeah_?!' she cried. 'Well, here's a newsflash, Fred! _I didn't inherit it!_ I didn't want this—I have no reason for being in the paper other than dating you! People shouldn't even know who I am! There are witches and wizards who have _died_ for the sake of progress and we don't know who _they_ are—_I don't matter enough! I haven't done things! _I didn't inherit _anything!_'

The lights flickered on and off, and then all the doors were blasted off their hinges.

'You're just like the rest of them!' Fred roared. 'All the journalists, all the little kids, everyone who stares at us in the streets! They don't see our _family_—they see the name —and so do _you!_'

He had his eyes fixed on her now, and she looked more terrified than he had ever seen, but somehow that didn't matter. Barbara seemed to have used up all her energy on shouting.

'So that's it, then?' she asked quietly. 'That's it—we're done? Three weeks out of Hogwarts and the entire thing's over?'

Fred's frustration crumbled. 'No...'

'But it is,' Barbara said. 'Because I said those things to you, and you gave it right back. Because that's in the past, and it's happened now, and we couldn't handle the real world. Because, apparently, we were better as friends. Because of those articles. Because of...' She broke off, fighting the tears she had already succumbed to. Then she set her jaw and continued: 'I'm going to go.'

'What?'

'I'm going to get my stuff, and I'm going to leave.'

'Why?'

She sighed. 'This obviously isn't working out, Fred. Who were we kidding?'

He reached out a hand, but she recoiled. 'Barbs, _please_...'

'_No_, Fred.' Barbara bit her lip. 'We're done.'

* * *

_**July 17**_

* * *

'So they've gone from "like" to "love" to "lust" to "love" to "loathe" to _what_ now?' James asked, recollecting. 'Sorry, this is like a soap opera. Too hard to follow.'

Cordelia furrowed her eyebrows. 'What's a "soap opera"?'

'Incredibly disappointing,' said James. 'There's never actually any soap _or_ opera.'

They sat now in the middle of Hyde Park, London. The place was crawling with Muggles who were all very much enjoying the sunshine, oblivious to the fact that there were two very magical teenagers among them who had just watched the most stable couple in their lives—(grand)parents not included—sever horribly; and who were having trouble recovering.

James looked up at Cordelia, who managed to be beautiful even when he was seeing her from an upward angle; for James was lying with his head on her lap. 'Do you want to do something to take your mind off of it?'

Cordelia looked puzzled. 'James, I know you're a bloke, but I think this might be a bit public for—'

'—no, not _that_,' James told her. He stood up quite quickly, then bent down to take his girlfriend's hand. 'I'm going to give you a tour of Muggle London.' He looked at her intently. 'No sexual euphemisms, innuendos or insinuations. Please keep all hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times.'

'What?'

'Oh, shut up, uncultured magical child. Just come with me and we'll go to Harrod's.'

'Harrod's?'

'Will I have to use a charm to shut you up?'

'Only if it's _your_ charm, my dear.'

'I think we spend too much time together. You're starting to turn into me.'

* * *

_**July 23**_

* * *

Scorpius surveyed the weather outside the Irish manor. Not terribly sunny, but it could have been worse. There was acres of space all around. No signs of civilization. He and Patricia certainly wouldn't be bothered by Muggles here. And there was a beach down the way.

The manor itself was not especially lavish in any way—a two-storey with three bedrooms. Two of which Scorpius secretly hoped would be remaining unused.

'Scorpius?' Patricia called from the set of French doors leading out onto the lawn. 'Why are you up so early?'

He turned. She was wearing one of his oversized button-down shirts. How cliché; but certainly not a revolting sight in any way. Scorpius shrugged in response.

'I don't know. Do you want breakfast?'

Patricia nodded.

'Okay,' said her boyfriend, 'well, I'll come in and make you some.'

'How do you plan on doing that?' Patricia asked, when Scorpius got within arms' reach. 'You're a wizard. _Magic _will make me breakfast.'

'Maybe so,' said Scorpius, winding his arms around her. 'But can magic kiss you?'

'Logically—'

'Oh, shut up...'

* * *

_**July 29**_

* * *

He didn't want to do this.

What if she cried?

He loved her so much.

What if she cried?

He didn't think she would. She was smart.

But what if she did?

Shut up, Potter. Do this.

'Cordelia!'

She whirled around, spying him across Trafalgar Square. 'James!'

They met in the middle; Cordelia's hands tucked in her pockets, and James's folded across his chest. It was silent a moment.

'You're doing it, aren't you?' Cordelia asked.

James looked at her. 'What?'

'You're breaking up with me.'

He took a while to respond, finally saying uneasily, '...I don't _want _to. It's just—'

'—it's just the Magpies,' Cordelia finished, surprisingly calm. 'I know. I get it.'

'Do you?' James asked. 'I love you—'

She pressed a hand to his mouth. 'James. You're breaking up with me. Saying "I love you" is kind of contradictory.'

'Oh. Right.'

Cordelia smiled. 'You're blushing.'

'I've never done this before!'

She looked at him with wide eyes. 'You're James Potter... and you've _never_ broken up with anyone?'

He considered it. 'Sort of. I mean, there _was_ this one girl who called me "Jamie" all the time—I absolutely _hate_ being called "Jamie"; you have _no_ idea—but I don't know if that count when I broke it off with her, because... you know... Jamie Potter.'

'Well,' Cordelia said, inhaling the cold air. 'That's that done.'

James sighed. 'Yeah,' he supposed, scratching the back of his head with one hand. 'That's really odd, isn't it?'

'Not really,' said Cordelia. 'I mean, I'm just back to being single. Like I was for sixteen years before _you_ came along.'

He shrugged. 'For me, it's sort of new.'

'Do you like it?'

'Not particularly.'

Cordelia laughed. 'Okay, well... I'm going to go home now.' She made to shake James's hand, but he just used it to pull her close and peck her on the cheek. She smiled—perhaps she even blushed—but instead of telling him they shouldn't have separated, she just reminded him that they had.

And perhaps that was what changed everything.


	36. Of Lasts and Firsts and Almosts

**Disclaimer:** None of this belongs to me.

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

"**Of Lasts and Firsts and Almosts"**

**Or**

"**August".**

* * *

_**August 1**_

* * *

**(Maybe)**

'At least now they can be bachelors together,' Barbara said bitterly.

Cordelia looked up from behind the book she had been reading, then decided that her friend's needs were greater than _Melody Malone_'s, and closed the novel altogether. She threw a pumpkin pasty in Barbara's general direction.

'But you and Fred didn't really _break up_, did you?' she asked as Barbara took a bite of the pasty. She joined her friend on the bed. 'I mean—sure —you had a massive row, but you're not... permanently broken... are you?'

Barbara shrugged. 'I don't even know,' she said miserably. 'I'm such a mess—why can't I be more like you? Why is it so hard for me to break up with Fred, as much as I wish I hadn't? Why can't I even face the prospect?'

Cordelia sighed, getting up from her place on the bed and crossing the room to close the door. Her parents were out, and Mitch was at a friend's house, but she still wanted the privacy of being absolutely isolated. This just seemed like one of those times. The honest truth was that she had no idea what Barbara was talking about, wanting to be "more like her". Did it seem easy for Cordelia? Having things end with James?

It probably _did_ seem like that to everybody else. But it hadn't been easy.

'You must think I'm being really daft,' Barbara said, sniffling.

Cordelia handed her a tissue. 'No, of course not.'

'But it's true!' she argued. 'You and James split up three days ago. You're fine. But me and _Fred_? It's been two weeks and I'm still a blubbering, blithering idiot!'

'Okay,' said Cordelia, who decided she had had enough of consoling somebody who obviously wasn't getting the message. 'I don't want to make a speech at you, but I feel like it might just be the only thing left to do.'

Barbara motioned her onward.

'I am tired of you comparing the two of us. We are two completely different people, with two completely different relationships, both of which just so happened to end within two weeks of each other. Mine ended because James stopped loving me. I mean, he can say what he likes, but the Magpies are not a proper excuse to break up with somebody.'

Barbara looked pitying.

'No!' said Cordelia. 'No, don't look like that! You think—"oh, yeah, Cordelia's fine! She's not crying or screaming or anything like that—in fact, she's consoling me and telling me everything's going to be all right! She must be fine!" But _no_. That is _not the case_. Do you have any idea what it's like to meet up with your boyfriend one day —the first boy who's ever shown the slightest interest in you—and then realize he's breaking up with you? He says it's because of commitment to a Quidditch team, but you know it's not. Because he's a stubborn bastard who would keep fighting for something if he really, really wanted it.'

She sighed. 'That's not the case with you and Fred. Sure. You said some god-awful things to each other, but—Barbara—you walked out. You left that house, even if you didn't want to. _He _certainly didn't want you to. That means Fred still loves you, and judging by your two weeks of moping, you still love him, too. So _don't_ say I'm fine. Don't say I'm handling this better than you. Because I could _not_ be feeling worse right now, and our circumstances could _not_ be any more different.'

Barbara leaned over and gave Cordelia a hug, which really didn't help, but Cordelia didn't have the heart to tell her that.

'But you're wrong, you know,' said Barbara. 'About James.'

'I really don't want to talk about it,' Cordelia muttered.

'Just hear me out,' the older girl encouraged. 'Seriously. James came to Molly and Alice's after he broke up with you. I was there—'

'—because you're staying there due to the fact you don't want to go home and face your parents—'

'—yeah. But anyway, he came over and he was worse than I'd ever seen him.'

Cordelia rolled her eyes. 'You're kidding.'

'No, I'm not,' said Barbara, and her tone was completely serious; after a brief moment of indecision, she began to tell Cordelia what had happened.

* * *

_(July 29)_

* * *

Molly's newly-made strawberry smoothie levitated its way over to her friend who sat at the bench. Barbara was, at three o'clock in the afternoon, messy-haired and pajama-clad. She sighed appreciatively as she took a sip of the drink.

It was a sunny afternoon, and light was streaming through Molly's kitchen window. The girl was living with Alice Longbottom in a small London flat, close to the Ministry. They were on the ground floor of some Muggle establishment, with a small lawn and lots of plants that made the neighbours curious, because they grew "so quickly, it's like magic!". But Alice and Molly were not alone in the house now, for Barbara had retreated there after her fight with Fred and had been living in the spare bedroom ever since, binge eating and crying until her tear ducts felt like sand.

'She didn't leave because of me, did she?'

This from Barbara, concerning Alice, who had left very hastily for Diagon Alley upon the ex-Head Girl's emergence from the bedroom.

'No,' said Molly, sipping at a coffee, 'she wanted to go see her mum.'

(For, if you don't remember, the extremely-informed and ever-supportive Hannah Longbottom, landlady of the Leaky Cauldron, was Alice's mother, and very up to speed with the goings-on at Hogwarts partially because of her daughters attendance and partially because of her husband's employment.)

'Oh, okay.'

At this moment, there was a loud popping sound, and James appeared beside Molly near the sink. Both girls jumped in surprise, but the male in their presence looked incapable of anything but the saddest frown imaginable.

'Merlin, James... what's got you looking like that?' Barbara asked, concerned.

Molly and James shared a brief glance.

'You did it?' asked the former.

'Yes,' informed the latter, sounding quite miserable.

'Wait,' Barbara said, looking from James to Molly, and back again. She raised her small hands to pause both of their conversations. 'Did _what_?'

Molly frowned. She took a sip of her coffee and set down the empty mug. With an awkward cough, she muttered, 'I should probably head over to the Ministry. Dad said there was something he wanted me to help out with.'

'You said that wasn't until four—'

' —bye, you two!'

_Pop_.

Barbara looked at James, and he looked back. There was no light in his eyes: they looked cold and dead—not with malice, not with hate, for it was certainly not Barbara's fault in any way—but as though a candle had been blown out. The two of them hadn't spoken since July 15th. Barbara had refused to. An immature thing to have done, sure, but she didn't want anybody to see how bad she was doing. Not when there were already rumours of Fred being interested in one of the Holyhead Harpies.

James crossed his arms. 'How have you been?'

Deciding that now was not the time for lies, Barbara answered: 'Horrible.'

'You're not the only one.'

After a long pause: 'How is he?'

They both knew who "he" was.

'Terrible,' James replied. 'Absolute mess. Even Uncle George can't cheer him up.' He sighed. 'But I haven't been to see him enough. In two weeks, I've been round there... what, three times?'

Barbara shook her head. 'Don't feel bad. It's not—'

'But it might be,' he said, cutting across her. 'Because most of the times I've been gone, not talking to him, I've been with Cordelia, or playing Quidditch. The two things that used to make both of us happiest: girls and that _game_.' James sighed again, leaning back against the countertop. 'It's not like I haven't been happy. It's been great. But Fred and I have been inseparable since the fetus stage, and he's distraught.'

Barbara hoped he didn't take this the wrong way. 'So what? What has that got to do with you?'

It was in this second that it occurred to her that she'd never actually seen James cry. She'd seen him with tears of joy in his eyes, but he had never wept. Not in front of her. Perhaps not in front of anyone.

But James Potter let his guard down now, and it was probably awful to say but even then—with tears streaking over his face—he still managed to look both rugged and godly and Barbara didn't ever think that façade would shatter.

'It's got e-everything to do with me, Barbs,' said James. 'Because if F-Fred's feeling like hell, then I don't deserve to be doing a-anything else.'

She climbed down from her place at the bench and approached him. Tentatively, Barbara put an arm around him. 'Hey,' she soothed, 'hey, it's not your fault.'

'Yes, it is,' James protested. 'She...'

Beat.

'_She_?' asked Barbara. 'What?'

James sniffed. 'Cordelia.'

'What about her, James?'

'That's what Molly was talking about.'

Barbara's mouth fell open. 'You... you didn't.'

James nodded. 'I did.' He paused. 'And you know what was so strange about it all?'

'What?'

'She was fine,' he said. 'The whole time. She didn't cry or anything. She wasn't fazed.'

Barbara sighed. 'Oh, James. James, you beautiful idiot.'

* * *

_**August 3 & 4**_

* * *

Albus suddenly felt quite warm.

He hadn't put on a coat, and the room was as drafty as it had ever been, with the windows open and door ajar, even though summer was meant to be heated. It wasn't that kind of warm, for one. There was that kind of warm, and then there was a seventeen-year-old boy who had just been told something very, very surprising.

'No,' he argued. 'No, you're kidding.'

Louis, who sat opposite on his cousin's bed, shook a blonde head. 'No, I'm not.'

'Who did you hear it from, though?'

'I'm French,' said Louis confidently. 'I don't need to _hear_ it from anybody. I can feel—'

'—don't start your nonsense.'

'Fine,' he said, slumping his shoulders. 'Scorpius told me.'

Albus sat up. 'But how did Scorpius know?'

'I don't know. He's _Scorpius Malfoy_.'

'So you're saying Scorpius told you a "certain brunette friend of mine" fancies me?'

Louis nodded and Albus launched once again into a rant on this improbability.

Deciding after a check of his wristwatch that this venting session would have to be cut short, Louis interrupted his cousin. 'Sorry, but we're meeting Scorpius and the others at six, and it's five-forty-nine and your hair looks like you've never brushed it.' When Albus shrugged, he added, 'in your _life_.'

There was a knock at the door and Patricia and Scorpius sprang apart, launching themselves off the couch with surprising agility. The blond threw his girlfriend a stray jumper, but did not wait for her to put it on; instead he rocketed to the door, not taming down his wayward hair, and—upon seeing Andy—opened it wide.

'I'm glad I knocked,' said the Hufflepuff.

Scorpius shrugged, cocky. 'You wouldn't have been.'

'You _did_ say six, though?' she confirmed.

He welcomed her inside with a low bow. 'Yes. You're right on time.'

They returned to the living room, which Patricia had managed to clean up—the witch was putting her wand away as the two of them entered—and she smiled at them. 'Three weeks without you seems like a year.'

Andy watched them warily. 'Well, Ireland's a good place to escape to. Good thing you sent me a picture of where to go.' She moved to explore the wall of windows over the cliff. 'I take it Al and Louis aren't here yet?'

'Well, unless we're hiding them under the cushions...' Scorpius quipped.

But they _were_ at the door; the bell of which chimed. Scorpius went once again to greet the guests, who returned to the lounge moments later, both looking like some kind of advertisement for Muggle clothing companies in London. Upon seeing Andy, Albus inclined his head. _Hey_.

She nodded back, then returned her attention to Scorpius, who began to open a bottle of firewhiskey. Besides, it wasn't as though that acknowledgement meant anything. They were friends and nothing more and even though his small smiles made her feel like they were the only two people in the world that didn't matter because he still hadn't understood what the hell Bridget Davies had been trying to get at or that she had been in the wrong with her questions at all. The phrase "Rose-tinted" glasses should have been altered to something a lot more fitting.

'Drinking again tonight, Fawcett?' Albus joked. 'Wow, we flyers can _never_ do that.'

'I should bloody well hope that's not the case,' Scorpius interrupted loudly. 'Because you will be downing this—Potter—and you have no choice.' He handed Albus a very large mug, filled with the burning liquid. The black-haired boy looked down at his drink.

'What's the occasion?'

Scorpius, whose answer was momentarily delayed due to his business in the draining of his cup, grimaced. 'No occasion, mate. We're all seventeen. Who's in want of one of _those_ stupid constraints? I say we just have fun tonight, yeah?'

Patricia took the firewhiskey from the table when her boyfriend went for a refill. 'Have you seen yourself, beerboy? I think you should probably slow down.'

Scorpius shrugged. '"Beerboy"?' He turned to Louis and said matter-of-factly, 'she wants me.'

'Yeah,' Andy scoffed. 'When you're sober.'

She clapped Al on the back, for he was spluttering at the strength of the firewhiskey. He had managed to drink through half of it in the time since its distribution, but he _did_ look a little green. Louis laughed at his cousin and continued to drink.

'I feel sick,' said Albus, staggering across the living room and collapsing onto the couch beside Andy and Louis. It was around three hours later, three mugs of firewhiskey later, and the three of them on the couch were also in the room where Scorpius and Patricia had been kissing for approximately fifteen minutes on the opposite couch. All had rerouted their eyes.

'That's not surprising,' Louis replied, eyes still staring out of the windows and over the grassy lawn to the fall of the cliff. He felt quite tired himself, and was very nearly falling asleep, even though it was only nine in the evening.

'Why do people find this sort of thing fun?' Albus asked loudly. He was obviously quite far from sober. This was a total change.

Andy laughed. 'I don't know. Something about inhibitions.'

'But you're not messed up like me!' he protested. 'Because I _am_ messed up, you know. I can tell. But you're not. Lou's not. But he's French. Are _you_ French? Why aren't you messed up?!'

Andy smiled. 'I work in a pub over summer. The only other thing I've learned from there is how to get ex-Hufflepuffs emotionally invested in our lives.'

At this, Albus laughed. He looked over at Louis, too see why he wasn't joining in the mirth, but then said rather disappointedly: 'Aw. Lou fell asleep.' He pondered this for a moment, then asked, 'do you want to go and see what's outside?'

'We can see through the windows, Al.'

'No, I know that —but I mean _out there_, for a walk or something. It's not like anybody's doing anything here but sleeping and kissing.'

'Okay,' Andy supposed. 'Yeah, we can go for a walk.'

The two of them stood and, reaching the exit first, Andy opened the door. Albus followed her out and the pair lit their wands for a source of light, then began pacing around the grass, careful to not go too far forward, to the cliff edge. The female in their party almost instantly regretted wearing form-fitting jeans. She hated doing so, and now the fabric did nothing to protect her from the cold. Even Albus shivered.

'You're quite sluggish tonight, Potter,' said she, when her considerably shorter legs had out-paced his and the boy had fallen behind.

'Hey!' Albus said.

'Hey _what_?'

'Hey-I-don't-drink-and-don't-enjoy-it.'

Andy sighed. 'Here,' she offered, extending a hand for him to take; which he did. 'Now you can't get lost.'

Albus smiled. 'You look beautiful in turquoise,' he told her, nodding to her flowing shirt. It was much more feminine than anything else she had ever worn, but Andy blushed all the same, like it was her favourite item of clothing.

'You can't be _that_ hammered,' she decided, knowing that he probably couldn't see her red cheeks in the dim light. 'You're saying "turquoise".'

'Who says a drunk person can't be eloquent?'

'I don't know—the laws of the _universe_?'

They walked along some more, still holding hands quite tightly. The wind was picking up and Andy wished she hadn't left her coat inside, but did not intend to go back and get it. Not now that she was where she was, with who she was with.

However, Albus didn't have a jacket either, so it wasn't as though fairytales would take effect and he would give her his.

'You're not fair,' Albus said suddenly, after a few minutes.

Andy looked puzzled. 'Why?'

'I don't know,' he admitted. 'I just wanted to fill the silence with something.'

'Okay.'

'Can we sit down?'

They were near the cliff edge now, but sitting seemed safe enough and so Andy agreed. Her hand was not released from Albus's grasp even as they sat down on the grass.

'I want to talk to you.'

'Aren't you already doing that?' asked a confused Andy.

Albus shook his head. 'No, this is serious.'

'Oh,' said she; 'oh, all right.'

He swiveled around so that the two of them were facing each other. Even in the raw light emanating from their wands, his green eyes glinted like galaxies were embedded inside them. It was almost too beautiful a sight to have so close, so reachable. And yet, never to be obtained.

'I was talking to Louis this afternoon,' he said, completely unaware of the effect he was having, 'and he said that one of my friends—a female one, with brown hair—fancies me like mad. Scorpius told him, apparently.'

_MerlinMerlinMerlinMerlinMerl inMerlinMerlinMerlin_. What had she ever done in her life to be punished like this? He was going to tell her that this was "perfectly normal", but he just wanted to be friends. Then it would be uncomfortable between them. Perhaps he was too far gone for that, though. Andy didn't know.

'And I think he meant Bridget.'

'_What_?!'

'I mean—he said Cordelia also knew. So who else would that be about, right?'

'_What_?!'

'She's really pretty, though,' said Al. 'I've been thinking about asking her out for a while. I like spending time with her.' He sighed. He had no idea that Andy regretted sitting by the cliff, for now she was resisting the urge to throw herself over it. 'But then sometimes I think there's somebody else who I really like; and she's super cool but I'm pretty sure we're just mates.'

_Who's going to waltz in now, Al? Who is this girl?_

'I don't know, though...' Albus continued.

He looked her in the eyes. 'Sometimes, I think there's potential... reasons for hope and whatnot. That, maybe, I shouldn't give up on this tiny chance.'

They were still holding hands, weren't they? Andy didn't have the heart to check. She swallowed, then almost jumped out of her skin in surprise. Al took her other hand in his; both of their wands fell stray onto the grass, and so their light was restricted, and neither he nor she could see absolutely clearly.

Andy could feel him close to her, though. Dangerously close, separated by a few inches, at maximum. She wondered if he had kissed anyone—a stupid thought: he was Albus Potter. But he had never had a girlfriend, a proper one.

Her eyes closed, but it didn't matter much, because the lighting had been so obscured anyway that complete loss of vision changed nothing more than infinitesimally. He was bound to be millimeters away now, if that. Any moment now, she would feel his kiss and everything would be fine. It wouldn't have been a waste. Nothing would have been a waste—not coming here tonight, not drinking the firewhiskey...

Wait.

_No_.

Andy reared back, almost against her will. If she was going to kiss him, she didn't want it to be like this: slurred, half-drunk, late.

'Al.'

He opened his eyes, surprised to find her a distance away.

'We've been drinking —I'm sorry, but it's just—'

'—no!' he said far too quickly. 'No, it's fine. I totally understand. Completely. Of course. It's just. Not right. Because—we've been drinking. Yeah.'

Andy fought the urge to fling herself off the cliff, getting to her feet with her wand in hand for vision purposes and apologizing: 'no, really—it's not that I didn't _want_ to —it's just—'

'—No. Yeah. Absolutely.' Albus stood, scratching the back of his head with the wand-free hand. 'I'm just... I'll go.'

'You shouldn't feel —I mean, maybe you could—Louis's inside...'

Albus took a few steps back to illustrate just how much he needed to leave. 'He knows where to Apparate to when he wakes up. Sorry. Again. It's okay, though—don't apologize—please—'

'Goodnight, then. Al.'

He put up a hand. 'Night.'

Then he spun on an invisible axel and was gone. It took Andy ten seconds to cry.

* * *

_**August 6**_

* * *

The atmosphere in the café, though it was a Muggle one, was certainly magical. Alice, who Barbara had not often spoken to during their time at Hogwarts, had gone to buy another cup of coffee for herself. Taking it upon herself to use their brief moment alone, Molly leaned over the table to her constantly-miserable friend.

'You're okay, right?'

Barbara looked up. 'At the present? I guess.'

'That's good,' said Molly. 'Just checking.'

Alice returned with a tray carrying three cups of coffee. Tendrils of steam floated from each one, and as the tray was set down on the small circular table, the overwhelming aroma of cappuccino, chocolate and sweetener filled the girls' nostrils.

Molly picked hers up, but was delayed in taking a sip, for at that moment Alice said brightly: 'Guess who's over at the counter!'

For a second, Barbara was actually worried that it was Fred—not that she didn't want to see him, but _what would she say?_—but upon turning her attention to the counter in question, she discovered that it was somebody different altogether: Professor McKinnon.

'Dad says he's only twenty-five,' Alice informed. 'A few months older than Teddy.'

'And he's ever so handsome,' Molly added.

Barbara raised her eyebrows at both friends. 'We've only just left school, you know.'

'But I'll be nineteen in two months!' protested Molly.

Alice shushed her hurriedly, because Professor McKinnon had just picked up his drink and was on his way to the door; a route which inevitably led him to pass the three ex-Gryffindors.

When finally he did notice them, the Professor stopped.

'Hello!' he said, sounding quite surprised.

(She was still in love with Fred—of course—but this did not stop Barbara from noticing how attractive her ex-Ancient Runes professor was when not wearing formal teachers' robes.)

'Hi, Professor,' she said, in relative unison with Alice and Molly.

Professor McKinnon smiled down at them, coffee in one hand. 'I'll let you in on a little secret—you've finished Hogwarts now—people usually call me "Luke", considering it's my name.'

He said this not unkindly, and so the three girls sitting down smiled again. 'Uh—okay, "Luke".'

"Luke" grinned and checked his wristwatch. 'I've got to go—nice seeing you, girls.' He waved as he hurried out the door.

Barbara, Molly and Alice watched him walk down the street, then turned to each other.

'That was strange,' Barbara decided.

Molly looked at her like she was insane. '_Please_. That was _hot_.'

* * *

_**August 11**_

* * *

'That's it, Peps. You're disowned.'

Albus, who had only now mustered the courage to relay the events of August 3rd—or was it 4th by that time? It had been so late—to his older brother, frowned. 'That's hardly fair.'

James ran a hand through his hair. 'Isn't it? You shouldn't have drank before trying it on—'

'—I wasn't "trying it on"—'

James cut him off with a raised hand. 'Well, it's too late for that now, isn't it? Now that you've gone through with it.'

Albus inspected his shoes. 'I suppose not.'

'And you haven't talked to Andy since, have you?'

He blushed. 'No.'

'What do your friends think about this?!'

'Scorpius thinks I'm a prat.'

(Even though Albus thought that probably wasn't the right person's viewpoint to give in response; James had been fishing for somebody else's name.)

'Wow, then Malfoy and I agree on _something_ after all. What a miracle that is.'

Albus looked at his brother. 'Do you not plan on helping me at all?'

'Not now, at any rate.' James put up a hand. 'I have Magpies practice. Monique'—the team's ex-Beauxbatons, part-Veela, curvaceous but semi-athletic assistant coordinator—'will hex me if I'm late.'

* * *

_**August 17**_

* * *

A screech echoed over the whole of Southern England.

'_I'm not Head Girl?!_'

Rose Weasley's hair was just as red as her face, and it flew outward in all directions, wet in some places from tears. In one hand, she clutched a crumpled up Hogwarts letter, and in the other, the envelope from which she had _not_ pulled a "Head Girl" badge.

Her mother, always rational, was attempting to calm her down from the doorway. 'Rose, I know it's _disappointing_, but your exam scores were still all Os —'

'—_Mum,_ _I'm not Head Girl! It doesn't matter anymore!_'

Hermione looked stern. 'Rose Weasley,' she scolded, 'you are going to stop being ridiculous and listen to me.'

Rose sniffled. 'But y-you would've been Head Girl.'

With raised eyebrows, her mother replied, 'fine. If you won't listen to me, then listen to your dad—_Ron!_ Your fatherly services are required!'

In response, from downstairs: 'But she's worse than Moaning Myrtle!'

'_Ron!_'

'Fine!'

* * *

_**August 18**_

* * *

Cordelia smelled, as always, like citrus and Honeyduke's Sweet Shop on a busy weekend. Albus inhaled this aroma in the brief second before the Ravenclaw pulled out of the hug, and then was struck by a guilty thought that it should have been James, doing that, not him.

But Cordelia didn't seem to be thinking about James at the moment. Instead, she was beaming at Albus. The two of them began the trek to the closest bridge; just behind the Tate Modern, the industrial-looking art gallery on the edge of the river. Both enjoyed London, but it was not on Cordelia's mind at the moment.

'You got it, didn't you?'

Albus looked sidelong at her, genuinely confused. 'Got _what_?'

Cordelia blushed. 'Head Boy. The badge.'

'_Oh_.' Albus shook his head. His expression remained neutral. 'No, it's not me.'

'Oh, Al—I'm so sorry—I honestly thought—'

'It's okay,' he reassured her. 'I sent Scorpius an owl. It's him.'

Cordelia sighed. 'Well, that's a relief. At least he and I are mates.'

They were about halfway across the bridge now, both had their hands in the pockets.

'You're Head Girl, aren't you?'

She nodded, then bit her lip. 'How much does Rose hate me?'

Albus shrugged. '_Stupefy_, but not _Unforgivable_. We can't all be Gryffindor Quidditch captain.'

Understanding his reference, Cordelia rolled her eyes, 'I just can't shake you Potters, can I? There's always one of you up against me.'

'Especially James,' Albus euphemized. 'Up against you.'

Cordelia slapped him. 'Shut up!' But she was sobered. 'You know how that worked out.'

'I shouldn't have mentioned it. Sorry.'

She shook her head, brightening up again when Albus knew she realistically shouldn't have been able to. 'No, it's fine—you're Gryffindor captain! That's brilliant news! I knew it'd be you!'

'Well, I try my best.'

They walked on for a few moments in silence, continuing over the bridge to the cathedral that lay on the other side. When they reached its steps, Cordelia turned to Albus and asked, 'How are things going with _her_?'

'"Her" being?'

'Our girl, not _glacé's_.'

'You're good at synonyms.'

'Stop trying to change the subject,' Cordelia told him. 'You know she was really freaking out? She thought she'd ruined everything that afternoon—honestly.'

Albus shrugged. 'I don't know. We've barely seen each other since.'

Cordelia chuckled. 'Well, she hasn't stopped talking about you; her mail's getting annoying.'

He blushed. It was quite attractive.

* * *

_**August 22**_

* * *

Students went back to school in eleven days, counting the present one.

Scorpius had returned to his family's Wiltshire estate on the morning of the eighth; finding not just his parents, but also the anxious air that came before Hogwarts letters.

He had known why.

"Will our son be Head Boy?"

"Will he be Quidditch Captain again?"

Astoria said it didn't matter, and Draco didn't say much at all, but they were both counting on him. Even when things weren't under their son's control, they wanted the best for him. They wanted him to be a trophy son, the perfect image. If they didn't know it, he did. Perhaps they were all aware. It was more than subconscious.

But, of course, his parents were not disappointed. He was Head Boy. He was captain.

It didn't really matter to Scorpius, though. Patricia had tried to talk it up, to make it sound like an achievement, but really it was the simple matter of—not necessarily being great—just being better than everybody else.

But it should've been Al.

It really should have been.

Al was good, law-abiding, talented. He had never kissed the wrong person, and he didn't come from a family of Death Eaters.

Scorpius hated himself for taking that title away from his best friend, and he especially hated James Potter for making it impossible anyway.

It should have been Al.

'This isn't a bad time, is it?' asked Patricia, cracking open the door to her boyfriend's bedroom. He had heard the sound of her Apparition.

'It's never a bad time if it's you.'

She scoffed. 'Corny.'

But it was true, in a way. If possible, she was even more beautiful after Ireland. It had been good practice at living together, even though that hadn't been either of their parents' intentions. She, thankfully, wasn't one of those people you began to hate when you spent too much time with them. In fact, the opposite had occurred. Scorpius thought being without her was an alien experience now.

They were so much closer after Ireland.

"After Ireland".

But, girlfriend or not, Ireland or not—it should have been Al.

* * *

_**August 28**_

* * *

It was raining; pouring down and damp in the darkness. He could see her silhouette, though, and he would recognize it anywhere. James followed behind her until he was close enough to address his ex-girlfriend.

'Cordelia!' He shouted to be heard over the rain.

She turned. '...James?'

They met in the middle. There was water clinging to her eyelashes. Even drenched, Cordelia Gilbert was very pretty. She looked surprised to see him, though, now.

'What are you doing here?'

(To be fair, she _was_ two hundred feet from her front gate, and therefore this would have seemed quite creepy to anybody.)

'I miss you,' said James. 'I know that sounds stupid but I do. I miss talking to you. I miss your jokes; the annoying weight you put on rules. I miss your smile—yes, that one; you're doing it now—and seeing as today would have marked eleven months, had we got to that point, I thought I should tell you. I miss you. I miss everything.'

'Well, we can't get back together, James.'

His face fell. 'I know that. But I love you.'

'Do you?' she asked. 'Honestly?'

'Of course!'

It really _was_ pummeling down with rain. Soon it would turn to hail, despite the fact that August should have been summer. (That's Britain for you.)

Cordelia smiled. 'There's kind of no choice here, then,' she said loudly, fighting to be deciphered amidst the howling wind.

'In terms of what?' asked James. He really wished they were having this conversation inside. His hair was sticking to his face and it was hard to see. Perhaps he needed a haircut, or glasses. James I had worn glasses. Maybe that was worth a look in —

'In terms of ending,' Cordelia explained. 'Do you really want the awkwardness of Trafalgar Square to be it?'

James shook his head. 'Let's see. I don't even really want _"it"_ to be over.'

'Well, then we should probably give it a better ending.'

'Like what?'

'Like this.'

She reached up and kissed him; and even in the rain, with layers of clothing clinging to skin and hair matted across faces, it was probably one of James's better kisses. Which was saying a lot, considering that line-up.

Cordelia pulled away quickly, the opposite of what her company wanted, and looked at him. 'We're still not together,' she reminded him. 'And I know that's messed up, but a relationship would be hell hard trying to make it work with me at Hogwarts.'

'Then what to you suggest?' James asked.

'Perhaps an understanding,' she replied. 'So we both know that, just because it's over, the feelings aren't dead.'

'What do you mean?!'

'I mean I still love you, James—and I'm sorry for that, but... you keep telling me you love me. So know that we both know that, we have an understanding, right?'

'Right.' _But it wasn't._

Cordelia looked around, to her house, where lights were emanating from. 'I should go,' she said. 'Mum will worry.'

James chuckled. 'Fine. Even after our "understanding", though?'

She shoved him playfully. 'Don't mock me, Potter.'

'_You_ kissed me!'

'_You_ dumped me!'

'...that was low.'

Cordelia sighed, turning away. 'But it was _true_.' She began to walk off, swiveling back only to say, 'Goodnight, James.'

He tried to smile. 'Goodnight, Cordelia.'

* * *

_**August 30**_

* * *

It had been over six weeks since their fight in Diagon Alley, but Fred was still miserable. He barely left his apartment, which probably made matters worse, since that had been the place the Great Fight was located. _Witch Weekly_ had tried to do a street interview, to which Fred had said something along the lines of "she didn't want this!". A statement pertaining to Barbara. A statement the media then twisted, making her sound even worse than she was.

Barbara was never anything bad. She was nothing less than perfect. He still loved her so much; he still loved her like he had loved her for years, and one fight wasn't enough to destroy any of that. He wished he hadn't spoken.

But he wished she had come to see him.

Fred didn't want to be the one to visit Molly's. James had talked about how tense the atmosphere was there. He had said Barbara was miserable, just like Fred. Which was the exact opposite of what he wanted.

Even if he was distraught, she still should have been happy. She needed to be happy, smiling; she was sunshine, and if clouds were cast over the sky then that was his fault. That night shouldn't have been the end. Fred hoped it wasn't.

Why couldn't she have come to him? Why was he scared to go to her? He was so in love, and she... well, he didn't know. Barbara could easily get somebody else. That wasn't the problem.

Barbara deserved the best, though.

"The best" didn't shout at her. "The best" didn't make her cry. "The best" would have distracted her. "The best" would have loved her better than he ever could. (Impossible?)

But that clearly wasn't Fred.


	37. Back Again

**Disclaimer:** You should know by now.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

"**Back Again"**

**Or**

"**Life On Both Sides".**

* * *

_**September 1**_

* * *

**(Part A: **_**The Head Girl**_**, or "I Knew You Were Trouble".)**

_9:47am. Platform Nine and Three Quarters._

The Hogwarts Express loomed, omnipotent, through the fog to Cordelia. She breathed out, but the inhalation that followed was filled with the smell of burning coal and the Head Girl grimaced. She stood now on the end of the platform, where the train began and the rostrum ceased; alone and waiting for companionship.

This was going to be a good year—it had to be.

She was Head Girl, though Rose surely hated her; she was Quidditch Captain, though many people surely hated her for that, too; and she was single, which Cordelia was sure would actually make people like her more.

But the promise she had made to herself still stood: no boys, no relationships. Not until seventh year was done. It wasn't because she was pining over her lost love with James, or because she wanted people to react in any particular way—the simple truth of the matter was that Cordelia Gilbert had grown very, very tired of dramatics.

The time dwindled to ten o'clock; a point at which Scorpius arrived, along with an extremely grumpy-looking Patricia. The former was wearing a white button-down shirt, and the latter's hair was barely dry. She squinted at Cordelia, struggling to make out her silhouette through the smog, before finally realizing that it was, in fact, her friend.

'It's too early for this,' Patricia grumbled.

Scorpius sighed. 'You shouldn't have come with me, then.'

'But I come with you every year,' she argued.

Scorpius's head tilted to the side in contemplation. 'Yes, I suppose you do.'

Cordelia watched the scene unfold, and discovered something almost delicate in the way the two Slytherins interacted; the looks they shared, the light disposition of the conversation entirely. It may have been something to do with being on the platform, or it may have been something else altogether, but Cordelia noticed this nonetheless.

'Head Girl.'

Cordelia perked up. 'What? Sorry?'

Scorpius grinned. 'Off to Hogwarts—then _we're_ in charge.'

He looked between Cordelia and his girlfriend, rubbing his hands together in a twisted sort of sinister manner. He stopped this quite abruptly, exchanging the happy-go-lucky look for a glare. Patricia and Cordelia turned around.

_10:00am. Platform Nine and Three Quarters._

That was completely normal. James, Fred and Molly had come with their parents to see the younger relatives off. That wasn't out of the norm. Not at all. Cordelia tried to shrug it off, because the 'understanding' had been reached after all, but she couldn't seem to.

There was something in James's face, something in his eyes. He smiled at her, but that warranted a warning glance from Molly, as though smiling at your once-upon-a-time girlfriend was a sin. Cordelia forced herself to shake it off and move out of the vicinity; away from the Potters and the Weasleys and further into the fog of the platform, but this was of no help. Retreat brought with it new problems: a crowd of second-years and the possibility of actually crushing one of them, running into Shelley Corner walking around with some desperate sixth-year in tow—it felt so strange not to refer to herself as one—but as Cordelia hurried through the thronging masses, she found no one.

'Not running away, are you?'

She wheeled around and found herself standing beside somebody who looked too old to be at Hogwarts, but too young to be a father. Someone's older brother, perhaps. Cordelia shook her head at the brunette, wondering why he looked slightly familiar.

'Ah,' he noticed, pointing to the shining Head Girl badge Cordelia had pinned onto her jumper with a bit of a grin on his face. 'Head Girl. That makes running off even worse.'

'I'm not running away,' she reinforced.

Her company shrugged. 'Just make sure you don't miss the train.'

'It's five past ten at the latest.'

'Six past.'

Cordelia couldn't help but smile a bit. 'You're quite sharp.'

'What can I say? I was a Ravenclaw.'

She furrowed her eyebrows. 'You were?'

'No,' he admitted, shaking his head. 'Gryffindor. Prefect and everything.'

Cordelia shrugged. 'Okay, then.' She exhaled. 'Well, it was nice meeting you...?'

'Adrian. Adrian Bell.'

_Adrian Bell?!_

That explained the familiarity in his face, for Adrian Bell had played Gryffindor Quidditch, and had finished Hogwarts at the end of Cordelia's second year. Back then, his hair had been much longer, but now it was cut reasonably short. He must have been roughly twenty-two. But Cordelia was confused as to what Adrian Bell was doing on Platform Nine and Three Quarters: his brother had graduated years ago.

However, Cordelia didn't ask.

She smiled politely at him. 'Adrian,' she finished.

He returned the gesture. 'And your name is...?'

'Cordelia Gilbert.'

His eyes lit up. 'No way! You were that second-year who thrashed Chris Wood's defence in—what—was that your first game of Hogwarts Quidditch?'

'Yeah!'

Adrian nodded in approval. 'Nice.'

Cordelia checked her watch. Almost ten past. Adrian seemed to notice the action and mirrored it. He ran a hand through his hair.

'Okay, well, I'll see you around, Cordelia.'

Would he?

'See you.'

_11:17am. Prefects' Compartment of the Hogwarts Express._

'All right,' finished Scorpius, clapping his hands together. 'That's just about it, isn't it? Unless Cordelia has something to say...?'

'Nope, I'm done—just don't forget your schedules. It's not as though you're going to be stopping some kind of fight or anything, but just... you know, keep a bit of a watch, please.'

The other Prefects piled out, leaving the two Heads with Patricia, Albus and Andy. Cordelia noticed an air of discomfort emanating from the latter two, but decided not to comment on it. Besides, it wasn't as though the slight details she'd managed to get out of Al about the events of their last meeting could change anything that had happened afterwards. But she really hoped Albus wasn't regretting his decision, because the last thing she needed now was another upset friend.

Scorpius led Patricia out of the compartment by the hand, and Cordelia followed. Outside stood Bridget, leaning almost carelessly against the wall of the corridor. When Albus came out behind Cordelia, she grinned at him.

'Hey,' said Albus.

'Hey,' Bridget replied with more enthusiasm, casting a sidelong glance at Andy, the last out of the compartment. Cordelia silently begged her not to start something. 'So. What kind should I be?'

Oh, Merlin, it was in fruition.

Albus looked confused. 'What kind of what?'

_Don't say the G word! Don't say the —_

Cordelia loved her, but she could've murdered Bridget. Nobody could be held accountable for lack of tact if not her. Cordelia continued her internal pleading, but it was of no use.

'_Girlfriend_, silly.'

_3:49pm. Compartment G._

The Head Girl stood and brushed off any excess crumbs from the trolley food she had bought before excusing herself and making an exit. She didn't mind the compartment, not really, but the last place Cordelia Gilbert wanted to be now was with Bridget Davies. She wasn't even sure why, but the entire place made her feel uneasy, traitorous.

Cordelia followed the corridor past several compartments until she found somebody familiar inside one. Andy was sitting by the window, staring intently out of it and paying no attention to what Scorpius, Patricia and Albus had to say. She felt terrible for even wanting to enter (again, for that inexplicable reason) but the others smiled at the sight of her.

'Hi,' said Patricia.

'How's Bridget?' Albus asked.

Cordelia shook her head. 'She doesn't matter.'

'But—'

'—she _doesn't matter_,' Cordelia insisted.

She threw a look at Andy, but the Hufflepuff was still staring out the window. After a few moments, she stood.

'I'm going to go see what Jenna's getting up to,' she said quite stiffly.

A minute or two passed with Andy gone, before Albus made to leave as well, with the intent of visiting Bridget. The other three all glared at him, and Scorpius went so far as to actually lay down on top of the Gryffindor Prefect to make sure an exit was not made on his part.

'What's your problem?' Albus asked.

'What's _yours_?!' Patricia snapped. She stood and stormed out before anybody could stop her.

Cordelia, Albus and Scorpius looked at one another.

Beat.

'Did I really screw something up?'

Cordelia frowned, but allowed herself to nod.

_4:30pm. The corridor on the Hogwarts Express._

'You haven't seen Louis, have you?' asked Melissa Jordan.

Cordelia shook her head. 'No, sorry.'

_7:23pm. Hogsmeade Station._

It was cold out, which didn't fit the weather London had put forth that morning. Cordelia felt her skin turning to gooseflesh even through her jumper. Being Head Girl, she had to make sure that all the first-years got to Hagrid, that everybody was off the train before it headed back to London, and now that these tasks had been completed, she searched for a carriage occupied by her friends. Scorpius was doing the same thing a bit further ahead, and Cordelia called out to the Head Boy.

'Didn't Patricia want to wait?'

He wheeled around. 'Nope. Rubbish girlfriend, she is.'

Cordelia laughed and quickened her pace to catch up with him. Most of the carriages had pulled away, but the one containing Bridget, Albus and Andy was yet to leave. Scorpius found Patricia in the carriage behind, so he moved up to be with her. _Of course that's the reason_, Cordelia thought bitterly, _nothing to do with the occupants of the carriage_.

'Cordelia!' Andy greeted brightly. She was obviously pleased to not be alone in the carriage with a couple any longer.

'Hey, guys.'

Bridget leaned her head on Albus's shoulder, winding her arms around the closer one of his. She moved to place a kiss on his cheek, but the Gryffindor blushed bright red and scooted a tiny bit away.

'Not in public, Bridge,' Cordelia pleaded.

Though she frowned at her friend, Bridget apologized. 'Guess it must be hard for you. Recent break-up and whatnot. Whoops, Head Girl.'

That wasn't the reason at all, but Cordelia let her have it. That was much easier than explaining the details behind her desire for the union between them to be somewhat conservative. 'Somewhat' being synonymous, in this case, with 'completely'. Albus tried to slip Andy a small smile, but the Hufflepuff had busied herself with the intense wait for Hogwarts to emerge omnipotent on the horizon.

Its turrets were shrouded in a layer of darkness, and the lights from the windows blended in with the stars, but the ambience of the castle held it almost backlit, visible even through the indigo atmosphere. Multiple carriages had stopped at the designated point already, and the four inside Cordelia's carriage were moments away from disembarkation.

Albus's hand left Bridget's, like the concept of this being seen by the public made him hesitant. She seemed slightly irked by this, but Cordelia's liking or _caring_, rather, for whatever 'irked' Bridget Davies was dilapidating quickly. They were meant to be best friends, but the past two months had been lacking contact and now Cordelia felt much closer and in tune with how Andy was feeling. It was much easier to be that girl.

Bridget climbed out of the carriage quickly, and Cordelia followed behind her. Andy moved to stay back, but Albus ushered her out first. With a quick thank-you, the Hufflepuff moved off to find her housemates.

'Did I do something to upset her?' Albus asked concernedly. 'Is she mad at me?'

Cordelia sighed. 'You're meant to be a smart bloke, Al.'

'But I'm not good with cryptic girl signs—'

'—ask your _girlfriend_,' she advised. 'That is, if you want to start a fight.'

Bridget looked back at the two of them. 'What's going on?'

'Nothing,' Albus insisted. 'Just talking about the schedule for Prefect's watches.'

She nodded. 'I'm off to find Sarah, then. _So_ much to tell.'

They both gave hasty goodbyes, but when Bridget was out of sight, the conversation returned to Andy.

'What did I do?' Albus pressed.

Cordelia shook her head. 'It's not your fault; not too much. Don't beat yourself up.'

But he looked like he was going to, no matter what Cordelia said.

_7:59pm. The Entrance Hall_.

There was a prod on Cordelia's shoulder and she turned to find the rather short Lottie Flanagan staring up at her. The girl's eyeliner was severe, and her lip gloss rather glimmering. The Gryffindor scarf she wore matched her hair, which was tied in a massively curly ponytail at the top of crown.

'You've not seen Louis Weasley, have you?' she asked.

_Why is everybody asking me that?_

'No—sorry.'

She stood beside Tabitha Perkins, who had matured over the holidays, much for the better. Her once-mousy hair was now a lovely mahogany shade, and while it had once hung around her cheeks, it now spilled over her shoulders; her always-wide eyes now shone out, and her entire face was visible. She was blushing at the moment. Cordelia felt quite proud of her.

Albus was standing a little way over, with Scorpius, Patricia and Ruby. Rose and her group of friends were standing at the doorway to the Great Hall, but the entrance was not open yet.

There was another tap on her shoulder. 'No, I haven't seen Louis—' She paused, eating her words. 'Sorry, Kevin.' For it was Kevin Corner who had tapped her shoulder, and who had grown even more over the holidays, now standing at the exact height James did. (A thought Cordelia wished she could have taken back the moment it was apparent in her head.) 'How have the past two months been?'

'Oh, nothing spectacular. Spent most of it playing Quidditch.'

She smiled. 'Of _course_ you did. Are you trying out for the tea —'

An almighty crash echoed around the Entrance Hall, making several people shout out. Multiple suits of armour fell from their places with amplified clangs, but when the dust cleared, it was not Peeves in the center of it all, but a blond, climbing up off the ground where he had tripped.

Albus cleared his throat. 'Well, we found Louis.'

_8:26pm. The Great Hall._

Professor Sprout finished her speech with the introduction of the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. The previous one had not died, but had wanted to spend more time with his family. (A soft option, considering the history of the post itself.) However, the person appointed to take the job mystified Cordelia.

'Oh, _he's_ dishy,' Shelley stated to the Head Girl's left. She sounded almost predatory. 'Right up there with McKinnon and Dryden. I wouldn't mind—'

'—So _that's_ why he was there this morning,' Cordelia said.

Shelley's fantasies were interrupted, and she replied in disbelief: 'you've already _met_ him?'

'Yeah,' Cordelia gave back, quite distracted now. She still couldn't get it through her head—Adrian Bell was going to be teaching _Defence_? 'This morning at Platform Nine and Three Quarters.'

'I'm _well_ jealous. If _I _met him with all that fog around—no one would be able to see—'

'Shelley, he's a Professor.'

'He's twenty three at best—'

'_Shelley._'

'But he's _fit_—'

'_Shelley!_'

* * *

**(Part B: **_**The Girl with the Hopeless Crush**_**, or 'I Should've Kissed You'.)**

_11:19am. Prefects' Compartment of the Hogwarts Express._

'_Girlfriend_, silly.'

_Girlfriend_...

The words had fallen from Bridget Davies's perfect, white-toothed, red-lipped mouth right in front of Andy's eyes. She couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true. But this wasn't a dream; she was pinching herself under her jacket, and the pain should have woken her up.

_Girlfriend, silly..._

Albus—Albus and _Bridget_?

The lurching feeling in Andy's stomach wouldn't desist, or even decrease. It was like she'd had all the air punched out of her lungs, like the floor had been pulled out from under her and she was halfway into the free fall. This couldn't be real. She couldn't even breathe. Somehow, her body was managing it, which was a mystery to Andy, but probably for the best.

_Still_. Albus and Bridget?!

She should have foreseen it. Not that Andy was a Seer, but she should have thought about the fact that, after August 4th, Albus wouldn't have wanted anything to do with her anymore. That he would have moved on, on to Bridget. He had even told her that Bridget was pretty, that he liked spending time with her. The words echoed through Andy's mind; the worst kind of album, like murder on repeat.

'Sarah said there's something she needed to tell me,' Bridget was saying. The sound seemed to be coming from the opposite side of a long tunnel. 'You could come and sit in our compartment, though, if you wanted to.'

Scorpius made some excuse for Albus. Something along the lines of 'top secret semi-homosexual ritual'. Bridget laughed, but agreed to leave, giving Albus a quick squeeze before she did so. Andy felt like she was going to collapse. The entire train was spinning. If she wasn't giving off visible signs, then that was a miracle in itself. Patricia was looking at her, from what Andy could gather from her sketchy peripherals. She didn't have the heart to return the gaze.

'Let's go find a compartment, yeah?'

Vaguely aware of what she was doing, Andy followed. Cordelia mentioned going to Sarah's compartment, just like Bridget had, which just made the Hufflepuff's heart hurt even more. There were actually smudges in her eyes.

She knew the whole reason Albus had wanted to kiss her was because he had been leaning on influence. That was the whole equation: nothing more, nothing less. Part of her still wondered what her life would be like today if she had let him, though.

_3:45pm. Compartment G._

She hadn't spoken for the past three hours. A couple of sentences, perhaps, but otherwise, Andy's attention was pre-occupied. She knew that Albus had noticed this, but she couldn't pull herself together. Not even for him. Nothing mattered anymore. It didn't. It couldn't. She shouldn't have been so stupid.

She shouldn't have let herself fall for him in the first place.

She had known when he'd fancied Cordelia. She had seen that in him. She had known she would never have a chance because he liked girls with those characteristics, but still she had developed feelings. She had consciously—

Speak of the devil.

'Hi.' This from Patricia.

'How's Bridget?', accompanied by a stab of pain.

From the window's reflection, Andy saw Cordelia shake her head. 'She doesn't matter.'

'But—'

'—she _doesn't matter_.'

Though what Cordelia had said was to her bias, Andy couldn't stand being in this compartment anymore. It was self-inflicted suffocation. She didn't even want to be on the train.

Unable to stop herself, she got to her feet. 'I'm going to go see what Jenna's getting up to.'

Her voice hadn't caught, and for that, the Hufflepuff could not have been more grateful. Andy slid open the door and went off to find—not her sister—but an empty compartment. If nobody was going to show her any kind of sympathy (why would they have, though?) she would much rather be alone.

When she succeeded in procuring an isolated compartment, the solitude lasted about three minutes. However, in those three minutes, Andy had succumbed to tears. She was a sight for sore eyes when Patricia entered.

'I walked in on Shelley Corner with some fifth-year,' she said, trying to make a joke. 'So I'm happy the next curtained compartment was yours.'

There was a moment of silence.

'I'm sorry. That wasn't funny. You're not okay, are you?'

Andy sniffled. 'How'd you know?'

Patricia chuckled. 'She doesn't deserve him.'

(No response.)

'She doesn't deserve him, and he's a prat.'

'But he's _not_. That's the whole problem. Why does somebody like him fancy somebody like _her_?!'

'Because blokes are stupid.'

Andy shook her head. 'Scorpius wasn't.'

Patricia scoffed. 'May I remind you that _he snogged Rose Weasley_?'

'B-but—'

'No buts. Al made a mental decision. But he's a _bloke_.'

'But I should've just kissed him!'

'But you _didn't_ and you can't take that back. I'm sorry, but you can't.'

'...but I wish I could.'

Patricia sighed. 'I think it's a bit late for that, love.'

_7:18pm. Hogsmeade Station._

Andy climbed into a compartment on her own. It felt good to be back in the cosy space, with its soft, plump seating and disembodied warmth. But, of course, this was as far as Andy's luck ran, for the next people to enter the compartment were Albus and Bridget, the latter of which was cuddling into her boyfriend's arm because of the cold. Andy noticed that she wasn't wearing a heavy coat. Of course not.

'Hi, Fawcett,' said Bridget. She glanced at Andy. 'I really _am_ sorry about that day in London, though.'

The way she said it made the statement sound like there had been multiple apologies. Which, of course, there hadn't been. This had been the first, and it wasn't genuine. Most likely, it was just to make sure Albus still thought her kind.

'Okay,' said Andy in response, but that was all the notice she gave.

The carriage, previously comforting and filled with promise, now felt as though oxygen had been substituted with discomfort. But leaving wasn't a possibility.

A couple of minutes past, in which Andy stared out the window, and Bridget murmured to Albus, and the door to the carriage swung open again. Andy had never fancied a girl—except in fourth year, but that was a short-lived phase and not to be commented on at the moment—but in that instant, she could have kissed Cordelia Gilbert.

'Cordelia!' She cried, absolutely grateful.

'Hey, guys.'

Cordelia closed the door behind her and took the empty seat beside Andy. Opposite her, Bridget clutched tighter at her boyfriend's arm, resting her head on his shoulder. She went so far as to try planting a kiss on his cheek—an action that would have made Andy actually storm out and not return—but this crisis was averted with a blush from Albus and a small move towards the opposite corner of the carriage.

Cordelia complained, 'Not in public, Bridge.'

'Sorry. Guess it must be hard for you. Recent break-up and whatnot. Whoops, Head Girl.'

Andy knew that at least two of the four people in the carriage were aware that this was not the reason for Cordelia's dislike of such touchy-feely behaviour. Albus looked a tiny bit more uncomfortable at that, because the break-up had been on the part of his brother (most likely), but Andy continued to stare out the window, waiting for Hogwarts to come into view.

At some point over the next few minutes, Albus let go of Bridget's hand, which left the Ravenclaw looking annoyed, and made Andy want to sing. The carriage pulled to a stop and Bridget climbed out first, without so much as a word. Cordelia offered to let the others go ahead, but upon their instruction, exited after Bridget.

'No,' said Albus, when Andy gestured for him to go first. 'You go.'

'Oh,' she replied, speaking to him for the first time in hours. 'Thanks, Al.'

_8:28pm. The Great Hall._

'Andy,' Jenna said, 'this is mental. I thought Albus was the one for you, but he's obviously not.'

Andy, who had a mouth full of shepherd's pie, did not respond.

'But look on the bright side,' Jenna continued. 'If you can't be with him, you could always fancy Professor Bell.'

* * *

_**September 2**_

* * *

'It feels so strange,' said Molly. She sat in her pyjamas with Barbara and Alice in their flat at approximately eight o'clock in the morning. It was Saturday and the three of them would usually have been sleeping, but now they were awake. 'We should be at Hogwarts right now.'

Alice nodded. She took a sip of her tea. 'What are we going to fill our days with now?'

'_Not_ History of Magic,' Barbara quipped.

The three of them burst out laughing.

* * *

_**September 3**_

* * *

Monique la Roux was five feet and four inches tall. She had dark russet hair which was faultlessly silky. She was the sort of person who was meticulous down to the last detail of her appearance, and her brown, almond-shaped eyes could pierce through anybody she chose. She had been born in France, on the day peasants stormed the Versailles back in 1793, to two magical parents. She was twenty years old when she began working for the Montrose Magpies as an assistant manager, two years out of Beauxbatons.

She was extremely serious seventy percent of the time, and the complete opposite the other thirty percent. Every move was calculated, but by no means was Monique la Roux a bad person.

Though, for a fact, she took pride in the acquisition of vices, and she believed that no pleasure should have been guilty. She often got what she wanted, and she did not take things lightly.

Monique la Roux did not very much like Quidditch, nor did she very much like education, or anything not related to social development or the increasing of self esteem. She believed very much in herself, and very little in everybody else.

She never wore black in anything except shoes or belts, and the only perfume she wore smelled like peppermint. This was because it reminded her of her mother, a Veela, and the garden that had been kept back in France. Monique had never touched the garden, because she didn't enjoy the possibility of getting her hands dirty.

Monique la Roux made friends because it was helpful to herself, but would never admit it. She laughed at all the appropriate jokes and did not kiss on the second or third dates if she had not initiated the contact on the first. The exception was in cases where it was after a walk, when she waited approximately eight minutes for her date to kiss her. After that, Monique pushed it forward.

If you did not account for her eyes, James Potter would notice one Sunday in September after a particularly grueling Quidditch practice, Monique la Roux was the complete polar opposite of Cordelia Gilbert.

* * *

_**September 4**_

* * *

'Who've you got first?' Scorpius asked, leaning over Cordelia's shoulder to get a view of her timetable. 'Ah. Bell. Me, too. Apparently, there are only about ten of us in the class.'

'I can imagine lots of girls enjoying that,' said Cordelia. She looked around and realized the amount of attention they were attracting. 'Scorpius, perhaps you should go and sit down.'

'But Professor Bell is so _fit_!' Scorpius complained. 'How will we be able to _stand_ it?'

Cordelia rolled her eyes. 'Go and sit down. I'll be seeing you most of every day for the rest of the year. Don't make me hate you before it's even started.'

Scorpius rolled _his_ eyes. 'You're unfair.' He stood up, though, and made to leave for his own table. He stopped a few steps away and added, 'by the way, your hair looks nicer than usual today.'

Cordelia looked puzzled. 'Thanks... Scorpius...'

'Don't thank me; at least one other bloke was thinking it.'

She searched the Great Hall for any signs of people looking at them, but nobody seemed to be. Cordelia shrugged. Who was she to trust Scorpius?

* * *

_**September 5**_

* * *

Ruby groaned. 'Is it possible that it's the second official day of the school year and I'm already behind on homework?'

'Technically,' Venice offered, 'no. You haven't even had two of the same lessons, so you can't be. That's just the anti-N.E.W.T. mentality.'

'Don't let it get you,' Kathryn finished, coming out of the bathroom with her clothes on and her hair tied into a bun, still dripping wet. She picked up her wand from the nightstand beside her four-poster and performed a quick drying charm before pulling her hair out of the tie and letting it down, un-brushed and curling at her shoulders.

Patricia stumbled out of bed. 'Why do I have to wake up if I don't have lessons until eleven?'

'To be socially acceptable?'

'Because we don't trust your boyfriend not to come up here and have his wicked way with you?'

'How would he get up the stairs?'

'He's a _Malfoy_, he'd find a way.'

Patricia sighed, but declined to comment as she moved into the bathroom to shower. She really would have much rather been sleeping.

'Oi—Patricia,' Ruby called through the door, 'we're going down to breakfast, yeah?'

She yawned. 'Uh huh.'

This was going to be a slow year.

* * *

_**September 6**_

* * *

'So, wait—you haven't spoken for almost two months?'

Fred shook his head.

Felix looked annoyed. 'Mate, I hate to say it, but this is absolutely ridiculous. I don't know what the hell is wrong with you or Barbara, but the things you said weren't _that_ bad that you can't even face each other after seven weeks!'

Chris nodded in agreement, before moving over to Fred's cupboards and pulling out a loaf of bread and the three varieties of jam on offer.

'You're making _toast_ at a time like this?!'

Chris turned to face Fred. 'We shouldn't be having this conversation without food. Honestly, it's like you don't have a brain or something.'

'That's what Barbara thinks,' Fred muttered under his breath.

Felix had heard this and shot him a stern glare. 'Even _James_ thinks you're being a prick. And this is James talking.'

'Well, it'd be nice if James were over here a wee bit more, so that he could tell me himself,' Fred complained. 'He's always got Quidditch or he's too tired. I'm his _cousin_.'

'And right now,' came James's voice from the threshold, 'you're being a sulky little piece of work. What happened to the Fred Weasley everybody knows and loves?'

'I don't know,' Fred moped.

'I'll tell you what happened: he became a depressed recluse working with his uncles and lamenting the loss of the one person he loves most in his life—his cousin.' James sighed when Fred didn't laugh. 'Barbara's staying with Molly.'

'I know.'

Felix rolled his eyes. 'Then stop being stupid, and go over there!'

Chris, biting into a piece of toast, agreed enthusiastically.

'I'll go if you lot stop bugging me!' Fred turned on Chris. 'And if you stop coming over here and eating all my damn food—why do I even let you _in_?!'

Chris did not reply, instead choosing to continue his toast.

* * *

_**September 7**_

* * *

You wouldn't have known this if you just looked at him, but Professor Binns could be found in the staffroom that Thursday complaining about the fact that he had no seventh-years to teach about the history of wizard Britain.

* * *

_**September 8**_

* * *

(_2022_)

'Don't start; I know I look like a cow... I look that frightful, do I?'

'Wha—no—_no_, you certainly d-don't look frightful—in fact, you look completely...er...well, I'm kind of—er—'

'All right. I need to talk to you about something.'

'So. Er—I don't know what the others have told you, but... I... I really fancy you.'

'Is that the truth?'

'Well, I wouldn't lie about it.'

'You've only known me a week.'

'That's not true; even before this year, I knew you from Quidditch, and-and—'

'I _really_ don't mean to be rude, but can I ask you why?'

'Why I fancy you and just admitted it, thus making me look like a total tosser? Sure... I fancy you because you're different—not in the generic, 'not a twat' way; no, it's more than that—you're intelligent but not snobby. You're the only female Quidditch Captain in the whole school, and you're the only Chaser with the guts to go up against _this_, which brings me to my next argument: you treat me like a person, not a title. I'm a Potter, and you're _not_ falling at my feet. That's a change. You're gorgeous, but not because you make yourself that way—not that I'm not hitting an absolute mental block right now because _come on_, cow-ish or not, that make-up is _whoa_—you're gorgeous because you're just _you_. It's not just in the way you look, it's who you are. You're funny, you're gutsy, you're _tall_ which—I sincerely apologize if this translates wrongly—but you've got legs that go on for _miles_. And it's for those reasons; not just your looks, that I fancy you.'

'It's not that I'm not flattered, James; because I am: you're this talented, great, intelligent person—you're Head Boy, for crying out loud—and it's not that I don't feel pleased that I've done something to merit this, the fact that it's me you fancy. But if I'm completely honest... I'm _scared_. And I know that it's daft to be afraid of something like this. But the truth is, I don't want to be one of those girls.'

'One of... which girls?'

'Exactly. One of those nameless girls in the history of _you_, James. I don't want to be a footnote on one of the pages of your life; just another one of the girls. _That's_ what scares me... I just... I want to matter.'

'Okay... okay.'

'I'm so sorry.'

'No... no; it's not you who should be apologizing. It's me.'

'But it's me who said 'no'.'

'I know. But it's me who didn't know how to. And now that's cost me someone really, really important. And for that, I cannot be more sorry.'

'Please. I know I've been an idiot. I know that. But please... please just _stay_. Just for the next couple of hours, and then you never have to speak to me again.'

'You know... people are wrong about you. Everyone says that you're constantly mischievous and... and that you don't have a serious bone in your body. That you don't care. But you _do_. You care more than anyone would think. And no one knows this other side of you—this James that feels, and takes charge for the better, and does what he knows is right. I'm pretty sure that _I _don't know this version of James... but if I did—know this other, _exquisite_ James that nobody gets to see—then he would be... the most marvelous person. He would have such a positive impact on _everything_, and everyone... and that would be the James I'd be _lucky_ to fall in love with.'

(_2023: __**'Sunburn'**_.)

'James?'

He turned in his seat, memories interrupted. 'Yeah?'

Monique looked at him from the doorway. 'Are you all right?'

James nodded, using his arms to force himself up out of the chair. He sighed. 'Yeah—yeah, I'm fine.'

'Well, it's lunchtime... do you want to go somewhere?' She bit her lip. 'You're not needed at practice until three.'

James swallowed. 'I, uh... sure.'

* * *

_**September 9**_

* * *

'We survived a week!' Lottie sang. She sat down at the breakfast table beside Rose, who was more or less distracted by a letter she had been sent. Lottie leaned over to see the sender. 'That's not fair!' she exclaimed. 'Why do you get to have a cute relationship where the boyfriend still tries to keep it going when you're apart? Nobody fancies me at _all_.'

Rose, momentarily distracted from Will's letter, shot Lottie a glance. 'Didn't you snog Miles Clarke at his mate's birthday party last month?'

Lottie went as red as her hair, but shook her head. 'That didn't matter, though. He didn't care about me. That's _obviously_ not the case with Will.'

Rose set aside her letter and began to help herself to some scrambled eggs sitting in front of her on the table, untouched thus far. Lottie began to argue another point, but was distracted by the arrival of Liz Pembridge, accompanied by Melissa Jordan and Louis Weasley, who were following at a distance.

'What's this?' asked Liz, on the subject of Rose's letter. She picked it up and read the last line. 'Oh. The boyfriend.' She sighed. 'Hopelessly adorable,' came the verdict. 'You're beyond anybody's help.'

Melissa, sitting down beside Liz as Louis joined Rory Spinnet and Alfie Cattermole further down the table, chuckled. 'It's not Rose's fault you're not interested in relationships yet.'

'Oh, I'm _interested_,' Liz argued, 'but not for myself.'

'How is that?'

Liz shook her head. 'I'd much rather watch other people be idiots than be one myself.'

'Because all people emotionally invested in others are idiots, right?' Rose inferred, folding up the letter and putting it in her shirt pocket.

'No,' said Liz. 'I, for instance, am emotionally invested in all of _you_—probably more than I'd like to be —and that doesn't make me an idiot. I'm just saying that, while you guys are free to gallivant around with whomever you choose, I would rather excuse myself from that conflict as early as possible.'

'By making everybody think you hate them.'

'That's not the case.'

The other three girls looked at her.

'Fine. But if we're being harsh, I only hate about seventy-two percent of the population. Most of them are blokes, and the other half are people in relationships that rule their lives.'

'Why do you hate blokes?' Lottie asked.

'It's just the ultra-feminist mentality,' Liz informed her. 'I don't really _hate_ them. I just think we'd be better off if we weren't worried about them all the time.'

Melissa looked at Rose. 'Okay, who does Liz fancy now?'

Liz's eyes widened. 'I don't fancy _anyone_.'

'If that's true, I'll eat the Sorting Hat.'

'You should probably go and get it from Sprout's off—'

'You fancy someone!'

'No!'

'You _do_!'

* * *

_**September 10**_

* * *

Barbara Tennant, a young woman of respectable quality and taste, stepped out of the first day of her internship at the Ministry feeling very much accomplished. Her boss—a lovely red-haired witch named Felicia Alexander—had been nothing short of wonderful, and though Barbara's main task throughout the day had been fetching various things for the very busy Miss Alexander, she had rather enjoyed it.

She had been complimented on her posture three times by other members of staff, and also on the fact that her jacket was a beautiful shade of plum. A young man named Fabien Scott had smiled at her after a meeting with Felicia, and Barbara had been informed by another intern named Clarissa Marx that he was recently out of a relationship. (To which Barbara almost replied, 'that's sweet of you, but I have a boyfriend.' Then she realized that she didn't, and hadn't for almost two months.)

None of these things seemed to be very much related to International Affairs, but at the age of eighteen, Barbara understood that the decisions being made in terms of the Quidditch World Cup and other charity benefits would have very little to do with her until she was promoted to—at the very _least_—a junior escort of some description.

'Barbara!' Clarissa called, following her colleague out of the office. 'Are you coming tomorrow?'

'Of course,' replied the brunette in question, as the two of them entered the long, dark-tiled corridor that would lead them to the lift. 'Why wouldn't I be?'

Clarissa shrugged. 'I heard something about some interns getting laid off if Felicia didn't like them on the first day. That certainly worried me. Apparently, though, you and I are safe!'

'Indeed.'

Clarissa, the sort of person who talked a lot despite being terribly well-meaning, continued: 'I swear—you look really familiar. Are you sure we haven't met?'

'Well... we were both at Hogwarts, weren't we?'

'Yes,' Clarissa supposed, almost sounding wistful, 'but I left that place three years ago. The Ministry is _much_ more interesting than Hufflepuff common room.' She waited for Barbara to reply, but she didn't, and so the conversation continued. 'What days do you have off for the week?'

Barbara wracked her brains. 'Wednesday, Friday and Saturday.'

The two of them reached a circular room, walled with elevators. The doors to one of the lifts opened, and the two interns hurried over to it, squeezing in beside a group of wizards from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Thankfully, none were Arthur.

'That's terribly unfair,' Clarissa said jealously. 'Sunday's only a half-day, so you're really just working three—and a bit—days a week.'

'Why?' Barbara asked. 'What are you working?'

'The same,' her colleague sighed. 'But Saturday's a bugger to work, because then I don't even get a weekend.'

'Well, perhaps you should tell Felicia that. See if you can work something out.'

'No, I couldn't do that. She'd probably think I was complaining and fire me. I've wanted to work here forever, and my boyfriend said he didn't like people who gave up on their goals without achieving them. It's just... it'd be quite nice to spend more time with him.'

Barbara's disposition softened. 'Look on the bright side: you've still got your three days off during the week. You can see him then.'

Clarissa tilted her head. 'I guess so.' She paused. 'You must think I'm really annoying, Barbara.'

'No,' she said softly. 'If I had a boyfriend, I'd want the same thing.'

Clarissa looked at Barbara again, like she was investigating her face. It seemed as though she was about to say something, but then gave up on it. The lift sounded, and the cool, collected witch's voice announced that they were in the atrium. Barbara and Clarissa both exited.

'Well, I'm going to Apparate home,' Barbara said. 'It was nice meeting you today, Clarissa.'

Clarissa smiled. 'You, too.'

* * *

_**September 11**_

* * *

Mondays had the habit of arriving too early. Scorpius found himself in Ancient Runes, sitting beside Cordelia, and watching Professor McKinnon fold up a letter somebody had sent him that morning at breakfast. The young Professor smiled; then he seemed to realize there were students in the class (albeit a small collection, but students nonetheless) and he ceased in the smiling altogether.

'Right,' said the Professor, administering authority. 'If you could just pass your assignments to the front, I'll have them back to you by next lesson...'

* * *

_**September 12**_

* * *

'I cannot believe,' Shelley Corner announced, as she exited the bathroom from her evening shower, 'what a timid twit my cousin is.'

Cordelia, who had come down from the Head Girl's chamber simply to say a quick _goodnight_ and now looked down at her oversized t-shirt and blue pyjama bottoms and felt quite plain in comparison with Shelley's above-the-knee silk nightdress, asked what was wrong with Kevin. 'Why's he a _timid twit_?'

Shelley rummaged around in her bedside cabinet, waiting until she had produced her hairbrush and begun her evening ritual before replying. 'He fancies a girl he's known forever.'

Sarah Boot furrowed her eyebrows. 'What's so wrong with that?'

'He's hell bent on not doing anything about it.'

Cordelia felt sympathetic, though she had absolutely no idea what Kevin Corner would find attractive in a girl. 'Shelley, perhaps it's for a reason. Like maybe she's in a relationship or something.'

'She's not, though,' Shelley responded, adjusting her position atop the covers of her four-poster, 'she hasn't been for a wee while.'

'Well,' Bridget said—because she somehow thought herself a relationship guru now that she was, strictly speaking, dating Albus Potter—'it might be out of courtesy. Maybe she wouldn't fancy him back. Maybe she's really cut up over the end of the relationship she was in. Maybe—'

'We shouldn't be talking about this,' Tabitha Perkins cut in. She had tied her hair in a braid and was plumping up her pillows. 'Whoever Kevin fancies, that's his business.'

Of course, Tabitha's good sense was ignored. Shelley, Sarah and Bridget were still discussing the topic when Cordelia left fifteen minutes later, feeling much more tired than she should have on a Tuesday night.

* * *

_**September 13**_

* * *

'You, Fred Weasley, are getting on my last nerve!'

(Chris Wood was quite annoyed that Fred still hadn't been to talk with Barbara. Fred Weasley was quite annoyed that Chris still hadn't stopped eating his food.)

* * *

_**September 14**_

* * *

Alice's flowers in the front garden looked even more beautiful at six o'clock in the evening. It was Fabien Scott who noticed this, when he asked Barbara if she had planted them herself.

'No,' she replied, flattered, 'my friend Alice did.'

Fabien smiled at Barbara. He had done that quite a few times over the course of the walk home. She could have Apparated, or taken the Floo network, if Fabien hadn't asked her out for a drink after work, just to celebrate her successful move into the International Affairs Office. After an internal monologue on the topic of _Drinks doesn't mean he's my boyfriend_, Barbara had agreed to go.

The evening had been quite nice, and even though she would have easily been able to get home afterwards, Fabien had insisted on walking back with her. He had said it was on his way, which sounded very much like a lie to Barbara. But Fabien had been sweet; and Barbara was in no position to pass up sweetness.

There _had_ been one or two jokes that Fabien hadn't laughed at, but he was a few years older, and probably had a ridiculous concept of maturity. He had opened the doors, though, and paid for Barbara's tiny glass of champagne. He had offered to buy her another one; he hadn't objected when she said she wasn't really that kind of person. He had pretended to understand what that meant.

Fabien was well-meaning, and as they stood together at the front gate of the flat, Barbara felt less empty than she had felt in a while. She wasn't healed—it wasn't miraculous ; he wasn't the one—but it was a decrease in discontent.

She wasn't sure if she should have kissed him. It had only been an after-work drink, and even though they were both single, Barbara didn't _really_ fancy Fabien. Her heart belonged elsewhere.

However, Fabien seemed to have a slightly different idea of what the previous hour had meant, and he took Barbara's hand. She hoped that this didn't mean anything more than a casual thing, but Barbara's hopes had never got her far.

'I've had an incredibly lovely time tonight, Barbara.'

'That's sweet of you...'

Fabien leaned over to kiss her on the cheek before she could finish the sentence. It hadn't been a kiss on the lips, and therefore it didn't mean half as much as any of her other kisses had, but the fact that Barbara hadn't been angling for that—let alone finished with her thank-you—threw her into confusion. She blushed, and tried to begin again.

'I...'

Then something happened that Barbara had not been expecting.

The door to the flat opened, but it was not Molly or Alice inside. In the same moment, it occurred to Barbara just how close Fabien's face still was to hers, for he had lingered after the kiss. This would have been fine, platonic, and totally, utterly, completely explainable if it had been one of Barbara's friends coming out of the door, but it wasn't them.

His eyes were wide, and his hair was just as messy as it had always been. He was wearing a peach-coloured hoodie, a Puddlemere United t-shirt, a pair of jeans and casual black shoes that Barbara had seen a thousand times. They locked gazes.

Fred's face flushed white.


	38. What Fred Saw

**Disclaimer:** © Jo. Ro.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

"**What Fred Saw"**

**Or**

"**As Per Usual".**

* * *

_**September 15**_

* * *

Albus pulled out of the dive and grounded his broom. The first of the groups to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team had arrived. Most of them had been at previous try-outs, and about six of them were Ravenclaw girls.

'As you know,' Albus began once the pitch had been cleansed of Ravenclaws, 'Gryffindor lost some brilliant flyers at the end of last year. If you saw the sign-up sheet, I'm looking for a Seeker, a Keeper, Chasers and Beaters: one of each at the _very_ least.'

There was a murmur of excitement.

'If I could just break you up into groups of seven...' Albus faded off. Somebody was sitting in the stands who shouldn't have been. 'Just one moment,' he told the group of hopefuls. He mounted his broom, and upon reaching the stands, found that the out-of-bounds person was none other than his girlfriend. 'Bridget,' he said, 'what are you doing here?!'

Bridget's blue eyes glinted. She fiddled with her hair as she gazed at her boyfriend, hovering a foot or two above her. 'I'm watching,' she reasoned.

'Watching or _spying_?'

Bridget chuckled. 'I might be spying a _little_.' She stood up, and now the two of them were eye to eye, even with Albus sitting atop his broomstick. 'But is that so bad?'

'_Yes_,' Albus replied. He was fast becoming annoyed. 'It _is_. Did Cordelia ask you to do this?'

'Of course not!' said Bridget. 'You don't know her at all, do you?'

Albus rolled his eyes in exasperation. 'Bridget, go. I'll have to report this to Madam Hooch if you don't leave. You're holding up try-outs.'

Bridget glared at him. 'Fine,' she said. 'I'll go. But don't expect me to wait around afterwards, or make any detours before dinner.'

'I wouldn't have asked you to!'

'Look, Al. We've been together—what—a month? It was fine until we showed up at Hogwarts. Ever since the train pulled in, it's almost like you don't want to go out with me anymore.'

Albus sighed. 'I _do_ want to go out with you, Bridge.'

She reached the end of the bench and said, 'then why won't you even kiss me?'

'What?!'

'Any kind of physical contact, and it's just... do you not even _fancy_ me?'

Albus looked at her, wide-eyed. 'Of course I do! It's just—'

'Are you and Scorpius gay together?'

Albus almost fell off his broom. 'Why's that a question?'

Bridget laughed. 'I don't know. It's... well, think about it. If you were actually interested in him, that would explain the lack of physical affection.'

Albus cracked a smile. 'It _would_, I guess. But no. We're both very much devoted to our girlfriends—no matter how crazy they may be.'

'That's good for me, then.' Bridget smiled at him. 'I'll go. I'm sorry for being a nuisance.'

Albus shrugged, though he was still quite unsure as to why she had gone from flinging accusations at him to being an agreeable person. 'It's okay. See you at dinner.'

Bridget waved and departed.

Albus returned to his try-outs, apologizing to the group of students who had grouped themselves into sevens in his absence. Lily, Roxanne and Hugo, at the front of the rightmost section, all sent him teasing looks. (Roxanne's was more of an eye-roll, because she hadn't cottoned too well to James dating the competition, let alone Albus.)

'Okay, thanks for that. Each group will play the others, just so I can see how you all fly in these conditions. Lils, can the seven of you go up against June's group?'

Lily nodded and her group took to the air: Lily playing Seeker, Roxanne and Jeremy Peakes as Beaters; two fourth-years named Davey Patil and Peter Massey and a third-year named Rebecca Troy as Chasers; with Hugo playing Keeper.

June Forrester had been on the reserve team last year as Seeker, and now flew into the air with the intent of not letting the title slip away again. However, this would prove difficult, as four of her team were third-years and none of them were very good. The seventh-years, Rory Spinnet and Alfie Cattermole, were both playing Chaser, and neither were particularly terrible.

Albus flew around after releasing the balls, watching for any kind of great talent. He found very little, and blew the whistle when Lily caught the Snitch and June Forrester was nursing a nosebleed.

The rest of the try-outs did not give Albus any kind of great faith in the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and by the end of the night, he was already sure of who he would be taking on to replace almost _irreplaceable_ players.

Lily, Roxanne and Hugo packed up the rest of the equipment for him and Albus drafted the list of teammates on the clipboard he had been given by Professor Longbottom. _Seeker: Lily Potter, Chasers: Albus Potter, Rebecca Troy and Davey Patil; Beaters: Roxanne Weasley and Jeremy Peakes; Keeper: Hugo Weasley._

Neither Rebecca nor Davey matched up to James, and Peakes was nothing compared to Fred, but Hugo had been playing Quidditch so long that he was almost as good as Chris had been. Albus wasn't overly pleased, but given the try-outs of the second-years, he certainly could have done worse.

Rory Spinnet had actually been quite good, too, but Albus wanted to minimalize the amount of seventh-years on the team. He didn't want next year's captain going through the same ordeal as he had; finding more new players than old ones.

'I know I said I wasn't going to wait, but...'

'But you did anyway?' Albus asked, lifting his head up to see Bridget standing ten feet away.

'Well, actually, I went to Ravenclaw tower, and then to dinner, but nobody was there and I knew you'd still be out here.'

'Ah. Nice deduction.'

'I try my best.'

* * *

_**September 16**_

* * *

'She doesn't want to be with me, James! She's moved on!'

'Whoa-whoa-whoa, _what_?!'

'I'd have told you sooner, but I—' Fred began to pace around his small kitchen space, unable to sit still. James watched from the bench, upon which he sat, butterbeer in hand. 'Okay, so I went to her place, right? I went over to Molly's on Thursday.'

'Uh huh,' said James, tipping the bottle up and draining it into his mouth. 'Go on.'

'So I went to Molly's because you lot were all badgering me about doing it, and I was finally going to go talk to Barbs—oh _Merlin_, James... what has she—' Fred began to breathe heavily, hands gripping his hair. 'I honestly thought she'd—'

James put out a hand. 'Easy, mate. Tell me what happened.'

Fred exhaled, trying to calm himself down. 'I waited there about an hour because she was at work and I _really_ wanted to talk to her, and it got to around six and I could hear her outside—you know, because I'd recognize her voice from a mile off, and I _knew_ it was her—'

'Yeah.'

'So I went and opened the door, wanting to surprise her and be all like _I love you_ but then—when I opened the door —it was Barbs, but there was this bloke standing there; he'd have to be about twenty-one, at least, and the two of them were so close together—'

'—_No!_'

'_I know!_ They'd just had a snog or something, or he'd kissed her goodnight—and she saw me and she said something like 'it's not what it looks like, I promise!'—'

'—Did she tell you what it _really_ was, then?!'

'Well, no, I Disapparated on the spot, but that's just—it's so—I mean, I don't _blame_ her. It's not like I've been over there! And it _has_ been two months since we broke up—and I know I'm just working in dad's shop right now and it's just a joke shop and she's got her bright, extravagant, up-market Ministry job, and why _would_ she want to be with me, right? But I honestly thought she might still—'

'Of course!' said James. 'I totally thought the two of you were getting back together!'

Fred shook his head. 'Obviously not, though!'

'But _seriously_,' James argued. 'I didn't think Barbs was that kind of girl. I mean, I thought you two were going to last; when I saw her in July, she was really cut up, I promise!'

'I kind of wish you'd been to see her since then, though.'

'Me too. Maybe I would've seen the bloke, and I would've been able to put a stop to it.'

Fred leaned against the bench beside James with a dejected sigh. The two of them looked at each other. Both knew they were thinking the same thing: _if someone had told me six months ago that anything in the past three months would happen, I'd have laughed_. _Or hexed them._

'Are you sure, though?'

'Ninety percent.'

James considered it. 'There's still ten percent, then.'

'James...'

'Ten percent.'

* * *

_**September 17**_

* * *

Scorpius and Patricia, though housemates and fellow Prefects, did not often get to see much of one another anymore. He helped her with homework, but he had so heavy a workload that even this was infrequent. If it wasn't homework, it was the duties of the Head Boy, and those were just as tedious. He was the one people had to go to if they were arguing about times to book the Quidditch pitch (though he and Cordelia had organized things to their favor, and Albus's, to a certain extent. The poor Hufflepuff captain, Ben Finch-Fletchley, was not so fortunate.)

However, today was Sunday and the Head Boy sat with his girlfriend outside under the beech tree near the banks of the Black Lake. It was surprisingly warm for September, and both were wearing t-shirts that they had only packed on the off-chance they needed extra sleepwear. As it turned out, these t-shirts ended up being their topic of choice, and argument.

'Mine is _much_ cooler than yours,' said Patricia, gesturing to her old _Coriander Dippet_ shirt; on it was a depiction of the band themselves, and a lot of multi-colored block-lettering.

Scorpius's t-shirt, reading _Muggles are people, too_, had been a satirical buy. His father had gone white (well, more so) at the sight of it—from remorse or old habit, take your pick—and his mother had laughed. It was widely known who was the favored parent.

'I argue otherwise.'

'Of course you do! You're not wearing a cool shirt!'

Scorpius rolled his eyes. 'How will we settle this bet?'

'Oh, it's a _bet_ now?'

'I win, I kiss you. You win, you kiss me.'

'But that's no fun; we can do that anyway.'

Scorpius shook his head. 'Au contraire. I shall not be engaging in any kind of romantic activity until this bet is resolved, unless it is with Albus.'

Patricia sighed. 'This is why people think my boyfriend's gay.'

* * *

_**September 18**_

* * *

Molly Weasley had always been good at balancing multiple tasks. She was now working as an assistant in the DMLE, or Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as well as sitting in on lectures of the Auror Training program part-time; not because she wanted to be an Auror, but for the reason of getting ahead and understand everything the DMLE could possibly throw at her to solve. She was also not very good at giving up on education, no matter which medium was offering it.

It was precisely for this reason (a lecture at the AT center) that Molly arrived at work at 11:47am instead of at midday, when she was officially needed there. And because Molly arrived at 11:47 instead of midday, she encountered a very surprising sight after signing herself in as on-time.

She had only been meaning to go into her boss's non-cubicle, behind-closed-doors office and announce her arrival, then begin tending to whatever needs Miss Juliet Abernathy had in that moment, but instead she found the blonde-haired, mid-forties Communications Coordinator sitting on the floor of the room in tears.

Upon seeing the crying woman, and realizing that it was Miss Juliet Abernathy, Molly made to exit. However—

'Molly?'

She cracked the door back open again, somewhat sheepishly. 'Good morning, Miss Abernathy.'

Miss Abernathy tried for a smile, sniffling. 'Did you go to your talk?'

Molly nodded. She came back into the room entirely and closed the door behind her. 'Thank you for letting me go; it's helping me out so much.' She wasn't entirely sure if she should have addressed the fact that her boss was sitting on the floor of her office wearing very beautiful, expensive-looking clothes and getting tears all over them. 'A—are you all right, Miss Abernathy?'

The blonde nodded, getting to her feet. She straightened out the creases on her shiny gold skirt and folded down the collar on her blazer. 'Yes, Molly, o-of course. I'm fine.'

'Is there anything I should get you?' Molly asked. 'A cup of tea, perhaps? Or some biscuits?'

Miss Abernathy sniffed again. 'That would be lovely, Molly, thank you.'

'I'll be back in a moment.'

Molly exited the office, shut the door and gave a sigh of relief. She wasn't sure why the Communications Coordinator at the DMLE was sobbing on the carpet, and she never thought she would even have strung those words together in her entire life—whatever the reason, Molly decided that the most important thing for her to do right now was to get the woman what she wanted.

She made her way to the employee lounge, which was nothing more than a few sets of chairs and a tiled area with a few benches for the preparation of various beverages and small meals. The vast selection of teas left Molly a tiny bit confused. She looked around to the other people in the room, most of which were people who worked in cubicles on different cases. One of them, Cassie MacDougal, had been one of Victoire's bridesmaids.

'Cassie,' Molly greeted quietly, for she felt quite rude just going up to somebody who was clearly enjoying their break from work, 'you wouldn't happen to know what kind of tea Juliet Abernathy likes, would you?'

'Oh!' Cassie said excitedly. 'You're working for Juliet? That's wonderful—I remember when I first started working here. I got Herbert Schermunski.'

'The foreign fellow?'

Cassie nodded. Evidently, Herbert was not somebody you wanted to be an assistant for. 'But my friend Ebony used to work for Juliet, and she said she always liked chai.'

Molly thanked her, and agreed to Cassie's following idea that the two of them should have lunch together one day, then quickly prepared her boss's cup of tea.

She waved her wand and one of the cupboards under the bench opened, to produce a beautiful tea tray, onto which the completed cup of chai levitated. Three of each varying biscuit type piled themselves onto the tray, and Molly arranged them so that they looked pleasing enough.

With the tea tray in hand, Molly returned to Juliet Abernathy's office. The woman had cleaned herself up, and if the redness of her eyes was not so noticeable to Molly, it could have seemed like Juliet had never been crying in the first place. She sat behind her desk now, with her reading glasses on, attending to a stack of papers and muttering under her breath.

Molly set the tea tray down on the end of Miss Abernathy's desk.

'Thank you, Molly,' said the woman. She picked up the cup of tea and sipped at it. 'Still a bit hot,' she added. There was a pause. 'Now—please,' Miss Abernathy invited, 'sit down.'

Molly complied.

'I would just like to make sure that you won't _tell_ anybody about what you saw earlier.'

'Oh!' Molly said. 'No —no, of course not.'

'Good,' Juliet replied, taking another sip of tea. 'I knew I could count on you.' Another moment of silence, in which Molly smiled. 'Well,' the older of the two continued, 'there's a meeting of the Wizengamot at two, meaning the head of the DMLE will not be in the office for about an hour. During that time, I will have to attend to whatever matters are left on his list. I'll be quite busy, because the DMLE head always is, and I won't be around if any calls have to be taken, or any cases.'

Molly waited.

'You'll have to tackle personnel, meaning that if anybody comes for an appointment with me—which they shouldn't, because I had you postpone them all yesterday —but if they do show up, you'll have to handle them.' Miss Abernathy paused. 'However, if they're a member of my family, or anyone above a cubicle officer or faithful backbencher, then they will be directed to me.' Juliet straightened up the stack of papers on her desk. 'Is that understood, Molly?'

The eighteen-year-old stood and nodded. 'With the utmost clarity, Miss Abernathy.'

'Good,' said the Coordinator. 'Now you know what to do when the clock strikes two o'clock; but as of this second, it is five past twelve, meaning these'—she gestured to one stack of papers, held together by a red folder—'are to be delivered to the Habitat-and-Residential Rights department; these'—the stack beside, in a yellow folder—'to Civil Control; and this last one'—a stack of three pages, inside a silver sleeve—'to the _Prophet_ office. They wanted the DMLE head to give a statement on the trial of witch from Canterbury.'

Molly nodded, picking up all three of the stacks; Juliet didn't seem to be finished. 'Molly, I'd have you send the red and yellow files with a flick of your wand, but I would much prefer for you to deliver the third one yourself.' Miss Abernathy frowned. 'If it were to be intercepted, then, undoubtedly, words would be twisted and I would probably lose my job.'

'Which means, so would I,' Molly concluded. She looked over the folders in her arms once more. 'Red and yellow by magic, silver by hand. Got it.'

'Thank you, Molly.'

She turned to exit, and cast a quick _Alohomora _on the door, due to the lack of free hands. The door closed behind her and, once more, Molly sighed.

Talk about _hard work_.

* * *

_**September 19**_

* * *

Quite a few people were disgruntled by the Captains' choices, and upon the posting of the Quidditch teams in their respective common rooms, this was made even more apparent.

_RAVENCLAW QUIDDITCH TEAM 2023_

_Kevin Corner — Chaser_

_Bridget Davies — Chaser_

_(Capt.) Cordelia Gilbert — Chaser_

_Reed Connery — Beater_

_Phyllis French — Beater_

_Gabbie Sterling — Seeker_

_Mitchell Gilbert — Keeper_

Cordelia couldn't bear to look at Seth Shaw. He was the only non-graduating player from last year who had not made the team. He had been a good Chaser, but during try-outs, Kevin Corner had been the clear superior.

He hadn't tried out for the team last year, due to the fact that he was in the hospital wing on the mend from having at least three of his fingers broken when he accidentally walked in on Shelley with Devon Henry in the boys' dormitories the night before, but Kevin was better than Seth at Quidditch. That was the simple truth.

_SLYTHERIN QUIDDITCH TEAM_

_Kimberley Harper — Chaser_

_Dylan McCormick — Chaser_

_Tim Vaisey — Chaser_

_Matt Bole — Beater_

_Beatrice Montague — Beater_

_(Capt.) Scorpius Malfoy — Seeker_

_Andre Montague — Keeper_

'I _still_ didn't make the team,' Venice said, returning to her dormitory with something of a stomp. Beatrice and Andre Montague watched her pass, then the older of the two (Andre) patted his little second-year sister on the back for making it to the Quidditch team—and for such a violent position, too!

Scorpius sighed. Quidditch may have just begun, but the sport brought with it a whole new set of problems.

* * *

_**September 21**_

* * *

It was a rare occasion when Bridget Davies and Shelley Corner were alone together in the Ravenclaw dormitory. It happened on Thursday afternoon, though, and Shelley took it upon herself to ruin the calm atmosphere.

'Does it bother you that your boyfriend used to have a thing for your best mate?'

Bridget, who was brushing her hair at this moment, looked up. 'Why would it?' she asked. 'As long as he doesn't fancy her now.'

Shelley shrugged. 'All right. I'm off to see Professor Bell, then. Remedials.'

Bridget looked confused. 'Shelley, you don't need Defence remedials. You completely understand that class. You were bragging about it at dinner yesterday.'

Shelley's eyes took on a cunning light, and with a ruffle of her hair, she said, 'yes, but Professor Bell doesn't know that.'

* * *

_**September 21**_

* * *

Felicia Alexander had told Barbara to go on her thirty-minute lunch break early, because the only thing being done in the office at the moment was post-tournament communication from the Quidditch World Cup, and there wasn't really anything else for the intern to do. However, Barbara did not follow her boss's instructions and leave the office for lunch.

Instead, she made a visit to cubicle 17, which lay in the small department covering trade between the UK and France, to have a long overdue conversation with Fabien Scott.

The two of them had not spoken in the week following the incident outside Barbara's flat. On the night in question, Fabien had watched Fred Disapparate, seen the look on Barbara's face, and told Barbara that she should have been honest about having a boyfriend, especially one as high-profile as a Weasley. Then he had left, himself.

Barbara passed Clarissa, who was dropping in on one of her days off to give Felicia a message she had missed, but apart from a casual _hello_, conversation was not exchanged. She arrived at Fabien's desk just as he sent a memo off to someone else in the department. Neither brunette smiled.

'Fabien,' Barbara tried.

'Yes?'

'I know it's been a week, but I've tried to talk to you—'

'—I know, but I don't have time for liars, let alone ones fresh out of Hogwarts.'

If she hadn't been so focused on telling him the truth, Barbara might have felt hurt. 'Look, Fabien—'

'Why did you even agree to go out for a drink if you had a boyfriend, though? Especially if that boyfriend is _Fred Weasley_. My sister said the two of you had split up, though. Guess not.'

'We had!'

'Then why was he at your house? Why did he freak out when he opened the door and I was kissing you goodnight?'

Barbara sighed. 'I don't know...'

'Maybe you should find out, then.'

She rolled her eyes. 'I was just trying to come here and apologize for any conflict I might have caused. If you're not going to listen, then I don't know why I even bothered.' She began to turn away, for it was obvious that no good would come of lingering. 'I didn't even _ask_ you to kiss me,' Barbara muttered.

She heard a scoff. Fabien. 'It was on the cheek, Barbara. It's not my fault everybody blows things out of proportion these days. And if you and Fred Weasley are as finished as people say, why wouldn't you want to be kissed? Not even goodnight after a nice evening?'

Barbara shook her head, declining to answer.

'You're too stubborn and hormonal to admit it, but I think you've still got feelings for him. Weasley.'

She left at this point, but not without turning around and pointing out: 'At least he didn't talk down to me all the time.'

* * *

_**September 22**_

* * *

Cordelia's before-lunch lesson on Fridays was Defence Against the Dark Arts. A topic she had always been good at, both theoretically and practically. It wasn't as though the class was difficult, but the charms they were taking on had reached a point at which some students had given up.

For now, the lesson was over. The ten people who had managed good marks and had chosen to continue the class were packing up: Cordelia, Scorpius, Rose and Albus were among them. Professor Bell (who it felt strange to refer to as that, considering the fact he was twenty-two and had introduced himself to Cordelia as _Adrian_) stood at the front of the class, packing up the equipment they had studied over the past hour.

Shelley had been trying to hang back after every Defence lesson, but nobody believed her various excuses, and so she had left at the normal time today, quite disgruntled.

As another couple of students left, Professor Bell caught the attention of the two Heads, who sat beside each other in the front row. 'Cordelia, Scorpius'—as expected, Albus and Rose and all others in the class also looked up—'will the two of you stay behind a minute and help me out with this stuff?'

Scorpius nodded and Cordelia said, 'sure.'

Albus and the others filed out, while the two Heads left their things at the tables and joined their Professor in the packing away of various dark detectors.

'So,' asked the Professor, 'Cordelia, how do you think the class is going?'

She paused in the disassembling of a very complicated tool and considered the point, though there wasn't really much to consider. 'It's great—really. Everybody's loving it.'

'That's good. Yeah... but, er, what's the deal with that Shelley girl?'

Scorpius and Cordelia both burst out laughing.

'She might fancy you a bit,' Cordelia admitted slowly.

Professor Bell looked confused—an expression noticed by Scorpius. 'Just so you know, Professor—and I have a girlfriend, so don't take this the wrong way—but you're hot.'

Adrian (Cordelia gave up on calling him Professor at this point) blushed and laughed simultaneously. 'That's... a tiny bit worrying.' He seemed eager to change the subject, because the next thing he brought up was: 'you're a Quidditch captain, right, Cordelia?'

_So is Scorpius._

She nodded. 'Uh huh.'

'Are you looking forward to the Cup?'

'Oh, definitely. What about you Scorpius?' she asked, because Scorpius had been silent for longer than he usually liked to be, and the packing up was mostly done, anyway. 'Has Slytherin got a brilliant team this year?'

Scorpius shrugged. 'We're all right. I count mostly on myself catching the Snitch, though.'

Cordelia laughed and Adrian realized, 'oh—Scorpius, you're Slytherin captain?'

'That I am.'

The Professor shot him an impressed glance; he seemed to realize all the equipment was packed up. 'I think we're done here. You guys can go—thanks for helping out.'

'No problem,' said Cordelia.

'Any time,' said Scorpius.

(In relative unison.)

Professor Bell didn't seem much like a professor to them.

* * *

_**September 23**_

* * *

Fred and James bid goodbye to the French brunette as she Disapparated.

The only difference was that, while James had called her _Monique_, Fred had called her _Yoko_.

* * *

_**September 24 & 25**_

* * *

Saturday and Sunday were quite boring affairs.

* * *

_**September 26**_

* * *

'No!' cried several voices.

'But she's my _girlfriend_, guys—'

'_No!_' said Scorpius again. 'I'm sorry, mate, but there is no way Davies is learning about the Room of Requirement. This is our safe place.'

'Guys...' Albus tried.

Patricia glared at him. 'If you wanted your girlfriend to hang out with us, you should've started dating somebody who was _already hanging out with us!_'

Albus sighed. 'Can you hear yourselves? What kind of friends _are _you?'

'Good ones,' said Andy quietly. 'Usually.'

Louis spoke up. 'I don't object to us spending time with Bridget,' he said diplomatically, '_but_ I do agree that this place is something of a sixth-year memory, and that any time spent with said Ravenclaw should be located somewhere else.'

'Guys, _please_...'

Andy looked at Albus for the first time in the entire debate. 'Look,' she said. 'I'm happy that you're happy, but some of us are not the greatest fans in the world of your girlfriend, for a variety of different reasons. Like I said, I'm happy that you're happy—but _I_ would be happier if you were off being happy with Bridget someplace else.'

Albus swallowed. 'Fine, then,' he murmured. 'You guys get what you want.'

* * *

_**September 27**_

* * *

Felix Thomas sat with Elena Finnigan outside a Muggle café near Dublin, in Ireland. They had discussed many things over the cups of coffee that were almost entirely drunk, but one thing came to mind that seemed increasingly important.

'Did you hear about what happened to Fred and Barbara?' asked Felix.

Elena bit into her grilled chicken sandwich, chewed and swallowed. Then, she addressed her boyfriend, 'only that they broke up.'

Felix shook his head in discontent. It wasn't directed at Elena, for she had been spending the months subsequent to July with her family in Ireland, working in a small bookstore run by-witches-for-witches and studying up on the history of the magical world, which was not as boring if not taught by Binns. However, being so far away from all her Hogwarts friends meant that she had not been caught up on gossip, for the person writing to her most frequently was Felix.

'No—something even worse happened a week or so ago.'

Elena's eyes widened. 'What?'

'Fred finally went over to Barbara's to talk to her, but when she got home from work, she was with a bloke, and Fred saw the bloke snogging her, or trying to!'

Elena shook her head. 'But—but that can't be right. Barbara sent me an owl on the thirteenth, said she was still missing Fred but that they hadn't talked. When did _this_ happen?'

'The fourteenth,' Felix recollected.

Elena swallowed another mouthful of her sandwich and gave the verdict: 'then it mustn't be what it seems, Felix. Barbara didn't want to snog that guy —she wouldn't have changed her mind in less than a day; this is _Barbs_ we're talking about!'

'I know,' he followed.

'But does _Fred_?'

* * *

_**September 28 & 29**_

* * *

Molly celebrated her nineteenth birthday at her flat, with eighteen of her friends. She had got off work at six, been round to see her parents and grandparents to go through the whole _I'm nineteen yes happy birthday to me!_ and when she arrived home at 7:30, the place was decorated and beautifully lit.

The guest list could not have been better: Barbara, Alice, Elena, Jess, Chris, James, Fred, Felix, Teddy, Victoire, Dominique, Toby McDonnell (courtesy of Dominique), Cassie MacDougal, Will Bowen, Quentin; as well as Damian, Maria and Cindy, three of the people she had been introduced to at work, and who she sat with on her lunch break.

The evening went spectacularly, even if Dominique and Toby got found entwined outside in the shrubbery, and Fred and Barbara only danced once—though it was by mistake; Barbara agreed to dance with James and Fred with Jess, but somehow, the partnership twisted—everybody enjoyed the time they had.

'What did you and Fred talk about?' asked Alice, when the last of the partygoers had left the next morning and she was standing with Barbara in the kitchen, where the ex-Head Girl was eating breakfast before work.

'We didn't, really,' Barbara told her. 'Well, sort of. We realized we were dancing with each other, and then I said 'let's just forget everything for now', and he agreed to that cliché.'

'That's good,' Alice supposed.

'Yeah,' said Barbara, who was done with her breakfast now. 'It is.'

* * *

_**September 30**_

* * *

Just do it, Day. She's your mate's girlfriend; it's not like she'll be _mean_ to you or anything. Just go up to Davies and ask to see her book. It's not _her_ book, it's the library's. And she's the one reading it and, without it, you'll not get your assignment done and then you'll get a T and it will be all _her fault_.

'Hey, Bridget,' Patricia began, trying her best to be nice.

'Hi,' replied the Ravenclaw, looking up from the book.

'Is that _A Numerological Look at Stars_?'

Bridget nodded. 'Yes. Why?'

'Oh, I was just wondering if I could have a look at one of the pages. You're the only person I've seen who's got it, and it's all I need to finish the Astronomy essay. I just need two sentences that I'm not sure of for a fact check.'

Bridget, who was doing the essay right in front of Patricia's eyes, looked conflicted. 'I'd love to, but I really, really need it. Sorry.'

'I need _one page!_' Patricia reinforced, looking down at the book. 'It's _that page_. The one you're on now. I just want to see it.'

Bridget frowned. 'Perhaps once I'm done...'

'Bridget...'

She suddenly saw somebody in the distance who she very much needed to meet, and she—she being Bridget—hurried to pack her things up. Including the book. 'Sorry, Patricia—I really need to speak to—well, yeah...'

Patricia cursed under her breath as Bridget ran off.

Al's girlfriend or not: Patricia did not like Bridget Davies.


	39. The Art of Young Professors

**Disclaimer:** I can't believe I'll have 52 different disclaimers. I'm not Rowling!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

"**The Art of Young Professors"**

**Or**

"**Throwing Linear Out the Window".**

* * *

_**Preamble: October 20**_

* * *

The last of the drawers closed with a click that rang both finite and omnipotent. It was as though, within that click, within the tiny shutting of that even smaller drawer, equilibrium was reached, and even for a moment, all in the world was good and right. Barbara Tennant brushed off her hands, though there was no dust anywhere nearby, and looked down at the orderly room. It was almost bare for the lack of decorations lining its walls.

It had once been a stock room, where surplus supplies from the shop below had found themselves a home. However, now that her unpacking was complete, the large, formerly empty space found itself almost full.

There was a double bed against the wall opposite the door, covered with white blankets, a grey duvet, and plain pillows, accented with green. On the left side of the bed stood a chest of drawers, the very ones that had just been closed, filled with most of Barbara's clothing. A coat hanger stood in place beside the door, holding up the knee-length fleece that she wore to and from work, accompanied by a teal beanie, which she hadn't put on her head in months.

Both sides of the room, the ones perpendicular to the door, had a strip of windows running horizontally across them; and it was to these that Barbara crossed the room, around the tall bookshelf and the desk she used for any kind of take-home work. She gazed out of the windows momentarily, then flicked her wand-wielding wrist and watched the curtains close in front of them. Though her view was obscured, Barbara was momentarily distracted, for a knock on the doorframe had sounded.

She span around on the balls of her feet. 'What do you think?'

Fred's eyes trailed around the room. 'I like what you've done with the place,' he said, still standing in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. 'But I would have preferred it if you'd—'

'What?' Barbara asked, raising one eyebrow. She followed her boyfriend's slow steps with her eyes as he made his way closer. 'If I'd stayed with you in the other room?'

Fred, now close enough, slid his arms around her waist. 'That could have been a plan.'

'Oh, I doubt that. We wouldn't make it through the evening.'

Fred raised his eyebrows, which Barbara could see only because she was leaning backwards, not necessarily eager to leave her boyfriend, but certainly eager to maintain eye contact.

'We could _try_,' Fred mused, tracing circles into the back of Barbara's sweater. She rolled her eyes.

'I don't think so.'

Barbara left his arms, crossing the room to the chest of drawers and opening the one she had previously closed. Clothes flew out, perfectly straightened out and faultlessly clean, each hovering in front of Barbara for the eighteen-year-old to take. Upon the extraction of a dark grey pencil skirt and a floral blouse from the air, the discarded items and accessories moved back to Barbara's drawer, above which they folded themselves up once more and waited—quite courteously, considering that they were made of fabric—to orderly return back to their rightful places.

Barbara returned to the conversation with her boyfriend as though it had never been interrupted. 'I have work, remember?'

Fred's eyebrows furrowed. 'That's ridiculous. It's seven o'clock at night.'

'You're telling _me_,' she rejoined. 'But Felicia said there was a letter arriving for her tonight and she wanted me to make sure it got there.'

'But couldn't she have asked Carlotta or whatever her name is—'

'—Clarissa—'

'_Really?_ "Carlotta" sounds _so_ much better,' Fred considered, a bit wistful. 'Anyway—it's _Friday_. You didn't have to work today, and still Miss High-and-Mighty Felicia Alexander wants you to go in and check on a _letter_? I know she's your boss and you worship her or whatever it is you do in the IAO, but that's _bollocks_.'

Barbara raised her eyebrow. 'You're just mad because you _really_ thought you were getting somewhere.'

'Was I?'

'I'll think about it.' She looked down at herself, still in the casual clothing she had been sporting all day. 'Go!' she told her boyfriend, when he didn't move to leave the room. 'I won't be changing into _anything_ if you're going to stand around having a shufti!'

Fred made a face. 'We _are_ living together, you know.' He stepped out of the room, only to stick his head in moments later, as Barbara began to unbutton her shirt. She stopped, glaring at him. 'I would just like to point out,' Fred said, 'that I walk around this house in my underwear most mornings. And I've never said anything about you not—'

'Prat.'

'Prig.'

'_Go_.'

Fred left, grumbling. Barbara removed her sloppy jumper and quickly exchanged it for the floral shirt. It had ruffles down the front, and she felt a mixture of immature—because she was feeling the other emotion—and _pretty_. It was such a childish emotion. The last time she had called any of her feelings "pretty" was at an old Aunt's wedding, when she was about nine. Of course, that was because her mother had bewitched the dress to sparkle, and nine-year-olds with the right mentality quite enjoy things that glint, flare and reflect light.

That was the last time Barbara had used the adjective "pretty" to describe an emotion. She pondered this—the _pretty_—as she pulled on her skirt and flicked her wand once, tucking the blouse into the waist-cut garment. Her black heels were by the door and she stepped over to them, sliding her feet inside and pulling her coat from the hanger.

'See you in a bit!' Barbara called, biting her lip through a smile.

Fred called something back, but it was muffled in the sound of Disapparation.

* * *

(The Present)

_**October 1**_

* * *

**(It's Time)**

* * *

_Dear Cordelia,_ Barbara wrote.

She sat at her desk, which faced Clarissa Marx's, on the opposite side of the doors to the very prestigious, very highly decorated office of the Quidditch World Cup's assistant organizer, Felicia Alexander.

It was approximately 10.20am, and the office was, with the exception of the two interns, empty. Clarissa did not speak, for she was shuffling through paperwork and sending follow-up memos. Her bright yellow dress flowed down to her knees, covered up mostly by a black blazer; it lit up her lime-coloured eyes and heavily accentuated her peach lipstick.

Barbara's attention returned to her letter.

_ Things are finally starting to look up. I know that, in light of the past month or so, that sounds absolutely insane, but that's the fact of the matter. I'm really beginning to grow out of all the pain I was feeling. I'm settling into the routine. The going to work, the lunch breaks, the avoiding of people I don't want to see. _

_ Not seeing Fred—or, rather, seeing him at the worst possible times, after which he leaves with very little explanation—is a bit of a bother, though. And due to the fact that a lot of my misery was because of him, that puts me back to square one._

_ I'm going to a party at James's on the 13__th__, though. Fred's bound to be there. Hopefully, I'll be able to get some proper explaining done then._

Barbara leaned back in her seat. She sighed, putting the end of her quill against her lips. She wasn't sure how to proceed. She did not enjoy lying, especially not to friends. Not friends who had seen her cry, like Cordelia had. But there was very little to be done on the matter. It had never occurred to her that she would still have to lie on James Potter's behalf post-Hogwarts.

_ Also, about James: I know he hasn't really been writing; not just to you but to Al and Lily and all the cousins, and that's because of how intense things have been with Quidditch practice. He's always really tired. It's not that the "understanding", or whatever you said it was, hasn't held. James is just..._

She may just as well have told Cordelia that her ex-boyfriend had no hands. But, really, having no hands would have nullified the problem. Barbara couldn't have told Cordelia, though. It would have caused more trouble than good.

_...adjusting. We all are. It's a completely different world out here, Cordelia. You'll probably love it, knowing you._

_ That's it from me._

She sighed, feeling very guilty. The two of them were supposed to be friends, but lying to somebody's face—even through the form of a letter—did not seem like a very friendly thing to do.

In hindsight, had she been able to go back and do it over, Barbara would have told Cordelia herself. It would have been easier to hear it, probably, from a close contact than from publication, just like everybody else; the situation made Cordelia seem rather commonplace. But, of course, Barbara thought it better to keep the seventeen-year-old blissfully unaware for a little while longer.

_ Love,_

_ Barbs_

* * *

_**October 2**_

* * *

Andy found herself standing in the middle of a massive paddock. Grass grew up to her knees, an abundance of wildflowers all around. The sky above was bright and crimson, cloudless and splotched with peach, salmon, violet. Stars were emerging from everywhere possible, even though it was not dark. The sun was invisible up ahead, but it had not been extinguished for there was still light all around.

Andy's bare feet shuffled through the field, which expanded as far as she could see in all directions. She had never been to this place before. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was strange. She really _should_ have been back in her bed, back at Hogwarts; why was she wandering? How?

On the edge of the horizon, overlooking the water below—for even though Andy had never visited the place, she could see that there _was_ a visible end to the fields, and that this was a cliff with a dark blue, foamy ocean below it—there was a person. They were only the side of her little finger, but Andy approached them quickly.

'Andy?' came the person's voice. Familiar. Albus.

'...Al?' she questioned, uncomprehending. 'What's happening? What are you doing here?'

Albus shook his head, putting a hand out to silence Andy. She did not speak. Albus shuffled away from the cliff, coming off its slight mound to get closer to her. Still, she remained quiet.

'Do you ever regret it?' he asked, inviting her to speak now. 'That night in Ireland?'

She swallowed. 'All the time.'

'Me too.'

The two of them looked at each other; then Albus was leaning in, leaning in as he had once before; he wouldn't get away this time—Andy felt her eyes drifting shut—

And then they burst wide open. She sat up, alone in her dormitory. All the other beds were made; there was no sign of anybody, except for the tower of books sitting on Sennen Cartwright's bedside table. Andy dived for her wristwatch.

'_What?!_ It's quarter to _nine?!_' She rocketed out of bed, across the dormitory and slammed the bathroom door shut behind her (she really _did_ prefer the Prefects' one, but that would have taken too long). 'Why didn't those sods wake me up? _Bloody hell!_' Andy continued to stay frustrated throughout her shower, and as she stood in front of the mirror, brushing her teeth with a towel wrapped around her, the feeling did not cease.

After the bathroom, there was a mad dash to pick out that day's clothes—which ended up consisting of a _High-Strung Hippogriffs_ t-shirt and an on-the-waist brown skirt that she wasn't even aware she'd packed. Andy slid her feet into a pair of flats and pulled her robes overtop. The sides of the robes were all twisted and Andy hadn't fastened them shut at the buckle, but she was focused on other things.

Her books were being placed in her bag by magic, and there was a Drying Charm active on her hair, so when the first of these tasks were completed, Andy shoved her wand into her pocket and high-tailed it out of the room.

Her first lesson was Herbology, and the run out to the greenhouses was probably the fastest of Andy's life. She was the last to arrive, but from a mad, stressed glance at Scorpius's watch, Andy found out that she had got there exactly one minute before lessons began.

'Thank _Merlin!_'

She put a hand on Louis's shoulder to steady herself. He looked at her, blue eyes questioning. 'Woke up... fourteen minutes ago...' she managed, a little wheezy.

A glint appeared in Scorpius's eye at that point, which Andy did not like the look of. She didn't want any of his antics, or innuendos, or anything else; especially not this early in the morning when she hadn't even eaten.

But that would never have stopped Scorpius.

'Weren't having raunchy dreams about _Al_, were you?' he asked, both rhetorically and as if it were a complete throwaway thought.

Both Albus and Andy blushed. (Al because it was embarrassing and Andy because, though she was also embarrassed, the whole thing was true. Sort of. The dream wasn't _raunchy_, per se, but...)

'Afraid not,' Andy said casually. 'He's a marked man.'

'You say that like he's up for death,' Cordelia noticed.

'Perhaps I am,' Albus supposed, sliding his hands into his pockets. 'I mean, Trelawney's been predicting my family's deaths for as long as she's been teaching here.'

The others laughed, and Professor Longbottom called for attention.

* * *

_**October 3**_

* * *

Molly was late. The lecture had run on a bit, and the discussion afterwards—although riveting in every sense of the word—had put the young witch behind schedule. She popped into presence at the DMLE seven minutes after she was meant to be there, and went straight to Juliet Abernathy to apologize. The woman's window shades were closed.

Molly was just about to knock on the Communications Coordinator's door when she heard raised voices from within.

A man's. Vaguely familiar. '—unless you like the attention, you filthy—'

Then Juliet's. '—that's rich! Coming from _you_, Mister "Late-night Work"!'

The man's again. 'If you know what's good for you, you'll shut up _right now!_'

Molly suddenly felt very guilty that she was witnessing this at all, albeit indirectly. Her desk was just outside Juliet's door, so even sitting down and beginning that day's memos or filing was out of the question.

There was a loud crack from behind the office doors, followed by a thumping sound and then the pop of Disapparation. Molly bit her lip, then decided that there was nothing for it but to go inside.

She knocked once or twice, then opened the door when she received no response. Juliet looked up at her from the carpet; she was, once again, in tears. Her hair was singed and her make-up was smudging around the twinkling, translucent blue eyes that often looked so piercing. Now they just looked frightened.

'M —Molly! What are you _doing_ in here?!' Juliet accused, horror-struck. She stood, pulling at her clothing and her hair, where it had been slightly charred.

'I'm sorry, Miss Abernathy,' Molly said sincerely. 'But I heard what happened and I wanted to come and see if you were all right.'

Juliet sniffed, leaning one hand against her large desk for support. 'Well, that was very nice of you,' she replied, quite stiff. 'I would rather you knock next time, though.'

Molly swallowed. 'I—er—I _did_ knock, Miss Abernathy.'

The older woman moved behind her executive desk and sat down, as if that made her feel more powerful.

'...Was that your boyfriend, Miss Abernathy?'

Juliet did not look up. 'My husband.'

Molly did a double-take. 'You're married?' she marvelled. 'To who?'

'Cadmus Rudolph.'

Molly's eyes bugged out wide. 'Cadmus _Rudolph_? Head of the International Affairs Office?!'

As Juliet nodded, Molly made a mental note to tell Barbara that her boss was an absolute twat. He had yelled at his wife, _hexed_ her—by the look of things: the singed hair, the fact that she was sprawled on the floor upon Molly's entry—and left her in tears. For her nineteen-year-old _assistant_ to take care of, even though she's only worked in the place a month!

'T-that's him, all right.'

'But he's abusing you.'

Juliet stood bolt upright, her eyes wide and glassy. Her chipped red nail polish made her pale fingers stand out even more against the desk, onto which she had slammed her hands. The woman's silver blazer and black dress, worn underneath her extravagant work robes, began to shake with the heaviness of her breathing. 'And you will tell _no one!_'

'But why?!' Molly protested stubbornly. 'He's being awful to you and you don't—'

'—Molly,' Juliet snapped, 'you don't understand! Telling somebody about this wouldn't accomplish _anything_. It would ruin his reputation, and with it, the entire IAO. I understand you've got a little friend working for Felicia Alexander there, don't you? You wouldn't want to make _her_ employers look bad. _And_,' she emphasized, when Molly made to interrupt, 'on top of that, it would also tarnish _me_—Molly . It would ruin me, and the DMLE. This department doesn't need weakness in its workers.'

'With all due respect, Miss Abernathy ,' Molly rejoined courteously. 'What part of telling your story of abuse makes you _weak?!_ He's hurting you, and you're sitting there and _letting him do it_. Who gives a damn about his reputation—he's a scumbag if he thinks he can hit you. Telling somebody isn't _weak_, Miss Abernathy; it's _strong_. You're not going to let him rule your life!'

An empty glass on Juliet's desk burst into millions of shards. The witch herself had her steel gaze set on Molly.

'You will _not_ tell me what to do, Molly Weasley. I do not take that attitude from my employees.' Instead of firing her, as Molly honestly expected, Juliet averted her eyes to the wall behind her assistant's head. 'Besides, what do you know? You've been nineteen a week, if that.'

Molly _could_ have told her that she knew quite a lot. You weren't meant to let somebody abuse you for one. But she liked her job so she kept her mouth shut.

Juliet sighed. 'I'm going to get myself cleaned up. Make sure these get distributed, will you?' A large stack of what looked like invitations levitated themselves into the air, where they hovered beside Molly. 'And keep quiet!' Juliet called again, as the nineteen-year-old turned toward the door. 'Or else I _will_ have to fire you. And edit your memories.'

Molly nodded. 'Yes, Miss Abernathy.'

'Oh—and, Molly?'

'Yes, Miss Abernathy?'

'If you ever hear anything like that again, between me and Cadmus... don't come in. Go to the Leaky Cauldron, or that café you like near King's Cross, and stay there for thirty minutes. I won't penalize you. Just don't come in.'

* * *

_**October 4**_

* * *

Louis waltzed up to stand behind Tabitha Perkins. She was reading something about witches of the sixteenth century in the middle of one of the aisles, and she looked quite bored—who wouldn't be, in the library?—so Louis decided it was just about time to strike up another conversation with Dear Tabitha.

What had it been, five years?

_Blimey_.

'Good book?' he asked, leaning casually against the bookshelf, arms crossed. Tabitha jumped slightly, and her eyes were wide open at the interaction between them (or perhaps that was interaction with _anyone_). She nodded.

'But I don't know if you'd like it,' she murmured.

_Terribly shy, this girl._

'Why wouldn't I like it?' asked Louis.

'It's about the history of our world. I doubt you'd find it very interesting.'

'What, and you _do_?'

Tabitha swallowed. 'I _do_, as a matter of fact.'

'Well, aren't _you_ something else.' Louis eyed her up and down quickly. 'I bet you actually _enjoy _Binns's class.'

She looked defensive. 'It's not as bad as _you_ say it is, you know. We're actually learning about modern history this year—'

'—there's more than one of you in the class?!' Louis interjected, genuinely incredulous. It had obviously been quite a loud exclamation, because all those studying nearby shot him vicious glares, and at least six people made a hushing sound. 'Sorry,' Louis mouthed back.

Tabitha giggled. 'Yes,' she replied. 'There's more than one of us in the class.'

Louis, whispering now: 'Who's mental enough to take N.E.W.T. History of Magic?'

'Me and some Hufflepuff. I don't know his name.'

'Wow. The poster child for social activity, you are.'

Tabitha smiled again. She really wasn't plain looking.

Louis plucked the Ravenclaw's book from her grasp, skimmed through a few pages, then checked his wristwatch. 'I should go,' he said. 'I'm meant to meet Melissa Jordan in the common room for a Gobstones game.'

Tabitha's smile faltered momentarily, but she was fast to regain composure. 'Oh. All right. Nice talking to you, Louis.'

'And you, Tabitha.'

He bowed enthusiastically, then turned to leave. He was about ten feet away, when Tabitha's voice reached his ears. It was no louder than a whisper.

'Louis! My book!'

He span back to face her, and Tabitha approached. She took her book from his outstretched hand. 'Sorry,' he whispered back. 'Forgot.'

Which was a _total_ lie.

* * *

_**October 5**_

* * *

Alana Harris got stuck in the trick step between the second and third floors because she was focused on flirting with Jeremy Peakes.

Lily would have stayed and laughed, but that would have made her late for Defence and that was one thing she would never let herself be. Not while Professor Bell was teaching _so_ incredibly.

* * *

_**October 6, 7, 8 & 9**_

* * *

Bridget spent time with Albus, who would have preferred the two of them to spend time with _his _friends, but Sarah Boot was the only person who would tolerate the two of them in a room together. Scorpius and the others spent most of their free hours in the Room of Requirement, just to make Albus envious.

(It worked.)

* * *

_**October 10**_

* * *

'You're going to have to talk to her at this do, mate.'

'I know,' Fred acknowledged, looking at his shirtless reflection in the mirror, scratching his head, then continuing into the kitchen where James was located. His cousin, picking away at a pumpkin pasty, looked up upon the entrance.

'So what happened at Molly's birthday, anyway?'

'I've told you a million times.'

'Make it a million and one.'

'We danced,' Fred said evasively. James jumped down from the bench on which he had been sitting and cut Fred off as he made for the cupboard.

'After not speaking for ages? You _danced_? _Merlin, _you _are_ a pansy—'

'Shut up, James; let me finish—'

'—Sorry—'

Fred swallowed and continued in a business-like tone. He pushed past his cousin to the window. 'Yeah, so, she and I danced, and we told each other to just forget everything for that little while—'

'—I'm genuinely sorry for doing this,' James interrupted again, 'but which fairytale did you and Barbara take your relationship out of again? "Just forget everything, and have a dance"? Good lord—'

He was silenced by the look Fred shot him. It was quite vicious.

'Besides,' the elder of the two said, 'why are you worried about me? It's not as though _I'm_ the one making a big announcement.'

James rolled his eyes. 'Don't remind me.'

'How do you think Cordelia's going to take it?'

James shrugged, acting like he didn't care when it was obvious that he very much did. 'We haven't talked for almost two months. I mean, there was the "understanding", but we both knew those were just words. For all I know,' he added, more for his own sake than that of the truth, 'she's already moved on, got another boyfriend or something.'

Fred bit his lip. He would have argued, but then thought of the trouble it would have caused. Instead, he said: 'well, it's your head, mate.'

* * *

_**October 11**_

* * *

Shelley sprinted into up the stairs to the Ravenclaw dormitory. She passed her own bedroom, though the door was wide open and Sarah Boot was inside; instead, making her way very hurriedly to the Head Girl's chambers. Thankfully, Cordelia lay on her bed, listening to the Beatles' "Here Comes The Sun" and reading a book. She looked up quizzically as the door was thrust open in response to Shelley's _Alohomora_.

'What is it, Shell?'

'You—need—to get to the—Quidditch Pitch—_right now!_' Shelley panted, leaning against the doorframe, her chest rising and falling so enormously that it almost looked like an exaggeration.

Cordelia flicked her wand and the music stopped. She sat up. 'Why? Is there some kind of fight on or something? Is somebody hurt?'

Shelley shook her head vigorously. 'Just my reproductive organs.'

'What?'

'McKinnon and Bell are playing Quidditch. It's _life-changing_.'

* * *

_**October 12**_

* * *

Patricia looked at her boyfriend. He had been staring out of the window for the better part of ten minutes—eight of which she had spent at his side—and he had not so much as glanced in her direction. Patricia wasn't one of those clingy, overbearing girlfriends, but she had known him long enough to be sure that something wasn't quite right.

Slowly, she leaned over and touched the cuff of Scorpius's maroon jumper. His eyes looked translucent in the reflection of the glass window. Still, the brushing of her fingers across the material of his shirt made no visible impression on Scorpius. This worried Patricia.

'Scorpius?' she murmured.

His eyes darted back quickly, checking for the face of his companion. Then Scorpius gave a tiny sigh, a hint of slight exasperation tucked beneath. He adjusted his position so that he was facing her. Patricia began the task of tracing figures on his hand with one finger. Scorpius stared at her, an apprehensive light in his eyes.

Patricia's fingers began to slide up from the back of his hand, edging up the cuff of the sweater. Scorpius winced and tugged it back down. 'Don't.'

Patricia looked up, her brown eyes puzzled. 'Why not?'

'Don't.'

She glanced down at his sleeve again. 'Scorpius.'

He was not looking at her.

Patricia leaned over again and pulled up Scorpius's sleeve as fast as she could. He let out a shout, but so did she.

'Scor—_why?_'

'I didn't have time to Vanish them—'

'—why is there anything to Vanish in the first place?'

Scorpius wouldn't face her, but Patricia's eyes were on her boyfriend's arm. Her hands clutched it like a lifeline, holding it up, closer to her face. 'Why would you do this to yourself?'

'You don't understand.'

'I'm so sorry...'

'It wasn't you. It was never you.'

'Then why—?'

'...Just don't. Please. Just don't.'

* * *

_**October 13**_

* * *

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place was bustling with activity. All of the rooms were brightly lit and vaguely sparkling, with approximately thirty people spread throughout the house. Bottles of butterbeer and firewhiskey were hovering around the room, waiting to be called upon, and music was blaring, filling up every orifice of the building. It was approximately 9:43 in the evening, and Monique la Roux sat by the fire.

She had in one hand a large glass of red wine, which was refilling itself magically. Her hair was long and perfectly curled, her lips were glossy and red. The heavy make-up around her eyes gave them a smoky glow, both distracting and mysterious. The Montrose Magpies Keeper, with whom she was interacting, was having a bit of trouble communicating without letting his eyes wander, for Monique was making quite a show of readjusting her incredibly short, skin-tight mini-dress. It was the same shade as the wine.

Monique stood, her delicate black high heels adding a couple of inches to her height, and proceeded to scoop her midnight-coloured jacket back up her shoulders. She gave the Keeper one last smile before readjusting her outfit one last time, then setting off to find James.

He was standing in the kitchen with his cousin Molly, who was reasonably pretty but otherwise quite bland. Monique wound her arm around James's torso.

'Hi,' he said.

'Hi,' Monique replied, smiling. She tilted her wine glass upward and finished the drink inside. 'Are you ready to go and make that oh-so-special announcement?'

James and Molly shared a glance.

'Of course,' James told her. 'Whenever you want.'

'Right _now!_' Monique enthused. 'It's been a secret long enough.'

So James went and called all of the party guests to attention, and Monique followed him into the living room with a bit of a smirk on her face.

The wall that had once bore a tapestry of the Black family tree was now restored to the way James thought it should have been. Instead of Sirius's face obliterated, and the few others like his, all of the other portraits were destroyed. Sirius and his equally fair family members had had their faces restored, and were watching the unfolding events with something like interest. If the simplest of paintings could.

'First,' James said, over the murmuring of his company, 'I would like to thank you all for coming.' He coughed. James was obviously worried about what people would be thinking, why he was standing so close to Monique, why she was, in this moment, reaching for his hand. 'And I have an announcement to make!'

'We _both_ do,' Monique put in.

James nodded after a pause. 'So, there's no point in us beating around the bush with it...' He sighed. 'Monique and I are going out.'

* * *

_**October 14**_

* * *

The parchment in Lily's hands began to tear and spit out flames. They emanated from the fifth-year's hands, and the people sitting closest to her at the breakfast table—Lucy, Hugo and Jeremy Peakes—all looked over in concern. The redhead's face mirrored the colour of her hair.

'Did you lot know about this?!' she asked Lucy and Hugo.

'Know about what?' Hugo rejoined.

'_This!_' she emphasized, throwing the stray, burnt slither of paper at her cousin. He picked it up and squinted at the charred words, trying to decipher what the phrases meant.

Hugo dropped the letter. 'I know he's your brother, Lils, but bloody hell. James has stuffed it up this time.'

'Monique la _Roux?_' Lucy exclaimed, for she had picked up the parchment after it had fallen from her cousin's fingers. 'Like—_really?_ After Cordelia?'

'What's this about?' Al asked, coming over from a little way down the table. He had noticed his sister's hands catching fire. Lucy thrust the scraps of parchment in his face.

Albus's green eyes scanned the page, then he crumpled it up between his fingers. He sighed tiredly. 'Looks like our stupid brother's done it again.'

* * *

_**October 15**_

* * *

Sunday was boring. But perhaps "boring" was the best they could hope for.

* * *

_**October 16**_

* * *

Barbara tucked her hands into her thick, woollen pockets. She didn't like Apparating home. Sure, it was easier, but Apparition led to laziness, and laziness meant being unable to see the world go by, in all its glory. It may have taken an extra fifteen minutes, but Barbara didn't mind walking through London, wondering how the lives of café workers and shoppers at Harrod's and picnic-goers in Hyde Park were going. The world was a brilliant spectacle, and spending a few minutes walking around and enjoying the beauty of it offered all kinds of spectacular opportunities.

And perhaps it was better on this particular day that Barbara Tennant was one of those people who loved to see the world, because so was Fred Weasley, and that was why the two of them bumped into each other—quite literally—outside a nice little shop called "Eat" in the middle of central London.

Barbara felt somebody begin to haul her up, and as she began to thank them for this unnecessary act of chivalry, she found herself confronted with a particularly familiar grin.

'Fred?'

'Hi.'

'What are you doing in Muggle London?' she asked.

'I could ask you the same thing,' Fred pointed out.

Barbara shook her head. '_I_ just got off work.'

There was a slight pause between the two, after which Fred blurted out, 'I'm in love with you!'

Barbara blinked. She took a step back. 'That's not going to just make it okay, you know.'

Fred shook his head. 'It should, though.' He sighed. 'I'm in love with you, and I miss you, and I've been stupid but so have you, and I'm sorry that it's taken four months and one day to say that, but I'm sick and tired of not being with you.'

Barbara bit her lip. 'I... uh... I just don't want that to happen again.'

'I _love_ you.'

'Saying that over and over won't change _an_—'

And then Fred kissed her. She had forgotten what it felt like to be kissed, to be kissed by him. She had been starved of one of life's greatest feats, one of the most simple human necessities, everything she could ever have hoped for and more. Barbara stood there and let Fred's arms wind around her, feeling her bag fall from her hand, onto the footpath.

They stayed entwined, oblivious to pedestrians and onlookers, happy to be together, and pleased that things had worked out at last.

* * *

_**October 17**_

* * *

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. 'Isn't this breaching some kind of teacher-student boundary? Isn't there some rule against this?'

Professor Bell, who had asked her to stay after the lesson and proceeded to ask very sincerely whether or not she was okay that James was dating Monique la Roux, laughed. 'A rule saying that teachers can't check that the Head Girl isn't about to have a breakdown?' He paused, seeming to consider it. 'Not unless Hogwarts has gone to the dogs.'

Cordelia smiled appreciatively. 'Yeah... I guess I'm all right, then...'

He shrugged, leaning against his desk. 'That's good. Then again, they've been going out since mid-August, so you probably already knew. That was stupid of me.'

Cordelia's eyes bugged out. She dropped her Arithmancy textbook. '_Mid-August?_' she asked, fighting to restrain herself and picking up the book. 'No... I, um, I didn't know.'

_Mid-August?_

James had been dating Monique la Roux since _mid-August?_

When they had kissed, on the 28th —James had had a girlfriend _then_? Why hadn't he stopped her? Why had James kissed her back?

Cordelia felt like she was going to vomit. The room began to spin.

'Oh,' said Professor Bell. 'Well, then I'm sorry. I know how hard break-ups can be on people —er... you can go, if you want. I don't want to make you feel awkward or anything.'

Cordelia nodded through her nausea. _She was the "other woman". _If anybody found out... was that why Molly had been so cut-throat that day at Platform Nine and Three Quarters?

'Bye, Professor,' she said quickly, dashing from the classroom.

It had probably seemed very uncivilized and rude, but Cordelia couldn't focus on anything else. _Mid-August?_ Where was Professor Bell getting his information? Was it true? James was dating Monique la Roux? He had been for _three months?_ What?

Cordelia felt sickness washing over her, and she was grateful for the fact it was now lunchtime, because nobody would be worried about her absence if she went missing for half an hour.

* * *

_**October 18**_

* * *

'Have you told Al yet?' Patricia asked Scorpius.

They both knew what this argument was about. If it was an "argument" at all.

'No,' said Scorpius. 'I don't want to bother him.'

'You wouldn't be _bothering!_' Patricia told her boyfriend. 'He's your _best friend_. He'd want to help!'

Scorpius shook his head. 'The only way for him to help would be to change my parents and this whole school and everybody else and _me_ and to make all this stupid shit go away, which I doubt he'll be able to do—Harry Potter's son or _not_.'

Patricia looked at Scorpius, genuinely concerned. 'How do you expect this to get any better if you won't _tell_ anyone?'

He didn't want her to hear him, but she did. 'That's the thing. I don't.'

* * *

_**October 19**_

* * *

Molly, Alice and Barbara had one last drink out as flatmates, before another hefty task began for Felicia Alexander's intern. It was a bittersweet evening. And that's saying the very least.

* * *

_**October 20**_

* * *

Well, you've already read about this.


	40. You Were Made

**Disclaimer:** The fortieth of fifty-two times I tell you I'm not Jo.

* * *

**Chapter Forty**

"**You Were Made"**

**Or**

"**Back to Basics".**

* * *

For James Potter, it had been messed up _again_.

For Fred Weasley, things were finally looking brighter.

For Scorpius Malfoy, he didn't actually know anymore.

For Bridget Davies, it had been a stroke of luck. But she wasn't to know that.

For Hugo Weasley, he was hesitant.

For Tabitha Perkins, in it she had very little faith.

For Molly Weasley, her faith was dwindling, too.

* * *

_**October 21**_

* * *

Today marked a year. Exactly twelve months, since the beginning of Patricia's first romantic relationship. This usually would have excited her; she would have been grinning all day long and feeling moderately nauseous—but on this particular occasion, there were more pressing things to address.

Since it was exactly twelve months since he had first kissed her, Scorpius should have been happy. Smug, more likely—next to unbearable. Instead, he was introverted, guarded. He hadn't bothered with innuendos and his last Potions essay had been sloppy. Patricia had tried to check it to steal answers, but the last few sentences were so clumsy that she had to restructure them with a grand flourish of her wand.

Why had he been doing such things to himself? What had caused them—was it her fault? She _was_ his girlfriend. Wasn't it her job to make sure Scorpius was happy, safe from harm?

He'd sworn her to silence, of course, but Patricia wondered if she should have disregarded this. She had had enough of pondering the continuously indecisive argument, and at eight o'clock on Saturday night to check. Dinner was recently adjourned, as was Quidditch practice, and therefore the Head Boy had no location to which he could venture, minus his own dormitory.

(And the Heads' Office, but considering the fact that Patricia had seen Scorpius begin the upward trek to his chambers with her own two eyes, she had reason to believe that—the dorm —was the more likely option.)

Patricia's trip up the boys' stairs was greeted by many strange looks from younger students. She shrugged them off and instead moved on with greater haste. Upon reaching Scorpius's dormitory, and its strong, polished door adorned with a plaque bearing the words "Head Boy" beside the Slytherin crest at approximate eye-level, Patricia did not even bother knocking.

'Oi!' came Scorpius's loud response. He sat at the end of his bed in just his underwear, with a Charms textbook floating in the air in front of him. With a lazy flick of his wrist, the Head Boy sent it across the room, where it clattered against a chest of drawers.

Patricia blushed from the threshold. Admittedly, her boyfriend did a little bit, too. He Summoned a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and pulled them on, one leg at a time. When he returned to his bed, he noticed that Patricia hadn't moved from her place at the door.

'What?' Scorpius asked. 'Do I need a shirt, too? My torso too distracting?'

Patricia smiled. It was the least she could do, considering the subject she was about to address. 'I wanted to talk to you,' she said.

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. 'That's a task accomplished, then—isn't it?'

Patricia shook her head and joined him on the bed. 'Unfortunately, no.' She took her boyfriend's hands and looked down at his wrists for the most fleeting of moments. Even this, he noticed. But these two wrists were not scarred or bloody, gashed by sharp wand-slit wounds; in fact, Scorpius's wrists were absolutely clear, as if nothing had ever happened to make the reality otherwise.

'I Vanished them,' he murmured. 'I know you don't like them, and I couldn't risk anybody else seeing.'

Patricia bit her lip. 'You... I wish you wouldn't do that. The cutting, not the Vanishing. Well, the Vanishing in part, because there shouldn't be anything to Vanish in the first place—'

'—it's not your fault.'

Patricia looked at him. She stared. 'But that's the problem, Scor! I'm your girlfriend. It's my job to make sure you're not hurting—if you're unhappy, it's my job to fix it.'

Scorpius shook his head. 'That's not your job. Your job as a girlfriend is to love me, and accept me. And _my job_, as a _boyfriend_, is to make sure there's somebody incredible for you _to _love and accept.' He sighed. 'And at that task, I'm failing.'

'But you're not!' Patricia argued. 'You're brilliant—you're smart and funny and a Seeker and _Head Boy_ and—'

'That's just it, though,' Scorpius interjected. He stood. 'That's the problem. Everybody thinks those things are what constitute a "perfect person"; and as long as you're achieving them, you're fine. But as soon as you're not—as soon as that streak is dead—then those adjectives aren't applicable anymore and everybody has been shown that you're not the great person they thought you were, and in the end, that recognition was all you had. Without it, you're nothing. Without those titles, you are naught. You have achieved nil, accomplished all kinds of nonexistent.'

Patricia looked up at him. It brought tears to her eyes, to see him like this, so overwrought with frustration, and knowing that she was one of the causes made it worse. She shook her head at Scorpius, getting off the bed, too, and transferring to a place directly in front of him.

'Your "streak" _hasn't broken_,' she pressed.

'_But it will!_' Scorpius cried. 'Eventually, I'll fail and everyone will be disappointed and all of my work will be proven worthless—all of this, futile! All of it, Patricia; even you won't be able to look at me. I'll be scrap, a has-been—a _never-was_. My streak will end, whether I like it or not! And I'm pretty damned sure that the day it comes to a close is almost here! So, it's just ... it's just so...'

He closed his eyes, screwing them up in an attempt at eloquence. 'I can't please anyone at the end of the day. If I'm pleasing everybody else, I'm not pleasing myself. If it's the other way around, people are still disappointed.' His eyes opened. 'I know that the key to success is, apparently, to stop caring about pleasing all of the population, all of the time, but... it's...'

At that moment, words failed him; but that didn't seem to matter.

'Yeah,' Patricia said quietly. 'I know what you mean. But I'll love you, streak or not, until all of this is over. And I'll love you after that, and after that, and so on until so long a time has passed that it becomes uncountable.'

Scorpius pulled her into his arms, but instead of kissing her, he just held her there; not speaking, barely daring to breathe, as if the sanctity of the moment would be lost if obstructed by any kind of sound.

* * *

_**October 22**_

* * *

'Good morning, Hogwarts!' a familiar, though completely unexpected, voice boomed from the commentator's booth, echoing around the stands, amplified partially by magic and partially by excitement. 'It's the first Quidditch game of the season, and—as usual—we've got Gryffindor and Slytherin starting us off!'

There was a loud collective cheer from the entirety of the school, though the team at which this was directed remained a scattered belief, and (to certain people) a sketchy subject. Andy Fawcett, the commentator, grinned.

'Let's welcome our teams onto the pitch!' She paused for dramatic effect. 'Slytherin? Here they come—'

Andy announced the name of the Slytherin players, and Scorpius zoomed out last, to momentous applause. Albus and the other Gryffindors joined a minute later, earning themselves equal cheers—the loudest of which was not Bridget Davies but Gabbie Sterling. Several onlookers stared.

The game began quickly, and by the time fifteen minutes had past, the score was 20-10 to Gryffindor. It wasn't that Hugo was a bad Keeper by any means, but Slytherin were strong Chasers. And Hugo _was_ a wee bit nervous.

Lily, who was having a tiny bit of an identity crisis seeing as she had recently changed to Seeker, found herself being trailed on many occasions by Slytherin Chasers like McCormick who had forgotten that she had switched as well. Still, it was a natural thing to do: go after the Snitch. Scorpius was being a bit troublesome, but that was only because he was good.

'Okay, so the game's been going for twenty minutes and Gryffindor's up: one goal by Albus Potter'—a moment during which Kevin Corner tried not to hear the change of tone in Andy's voice, even though he did, and so did Cordelia, who was sitting beside him—'and one by Rebecca Troy, with Davey Patil currently going for a penalty! Come on, Davey—get it past Montague!'

Then, remembering that she had to be "neutral": 'Go, Montague! Defend... and whatnot...'

Patil ended up getting the penalty, so Gryffindor was winning 30-10. Scorpius wanted to catch the Snitch, and he wanted to catch it fast. There was no point in dragging it on. But Lily Potter was annoying. She was talented, and fast, and her hair was red and it reminded him of Rose and the stupid things he'd done by this time last year and—

_He saw it._

Like many a time, the Seeker had seen the Snitch—try saying that five times fast—darting around the opposite side of the pitch. Albus was directing Lily on a play.

Scorpius didn't _want_ Al to lose his first game as Captain. He didn't want to take _everything_ from him. First Head Boy, now this?

...Was he the first Slytherin who found more to life than personal gain?

Perhaps he was, for as Scorpius went streaking after the Snitch, Lily Potter saw him, and she followed, and he let the Snitch fall right through his fingers...

and into hers.

* * *

_**October 23**_

* * *

Felicia Alexander extended a hand. Her fingernails were painted bright purple, and her green eyes shone out, startlingly luminescent against her long red hair. 'To what I do I owe the pleasure?'

Fred inclined his head. 'The pleasure's all mine.'

Felicia smiled, looking around the office and then back at the eighteen-year-old in front of her. 'I assume you're here to see Barbara?'

'You assumed correctly.'

There were very little people in the hallway; Barbara, Fred found, was not one of them. He had shown up to her work to surprise her—and also to spend time with Molly during lunchtime—but due to the fact that he'd got a bit lost, Fred had instead bumped into his girlfriend's boss. Felicia Alexander.

'Miss Alexander?' called some ginger-haired early-twenties intern. Fred guessed this was Clarissa Marx (whose name he still thought should have been "Carlotta"). 'You're needed in the World Cup planning meeting with the Ambassador of Bulgaria now.'

Felicia sent Clarissa an appreciative glance. 'Thank you, dear.' Her attention returned to Fred. 'It was lovely to meet you, Fred.'

'Likewise, Miss Alexander,' he replied, sinking into a low bow which made the woman smile.

The two women departed and Fred continued into the office, looking around its cubicles but finding no one familiar. A familiar musical voice cut into his search.

'Not looking for me, are you?'

Fred whirled around, recognizing his company in a heartbeat. 'Why?' he asked his girlfriend, who looked marginally more tired than she had upon leaving the house that morning. She was holding two cups of coffee, one of which she handed to him as if she had known he would be visiting. 'Would that be a problem?'

'I don't know,' said Barbara, leading Fred down a corridor to the place where she worked. 'You might be a distraction.'

'Oh, I promise I won't get you in trouble,' he said, playing along. 'I've already met your boss and she positively _loves _me.'

Barbara slid into her seat behind the intern's desk.

She was on the left side of the massive mahogany doors to Felicia's office, whereas Clarissa's desk was on the right. The surface of Barbara's desk was covered in papers, empty drinking cups, and the odd book of works by some Muggle poet called Keats. On the coat rack beside the desk hung Barbara's trench-coat, along with a floral scarf Fred was pretty sure belonged to Alice Longbottom. Was that what girls did, share clothes?

'So is this what you do all day?' Fred asked after a brief pause and a sip of coffee. 'Sit here and fill out paperwork?'

'Well, I'm sorry that I can't be working the family joke shop, then.'

'Nah,' said Fred, scrunching up his nose. 'You're too law-abiding for that stuff. All you'd be thinking of would be the consequences of buying and using the things.'

'You know me so well,' said Barbara. She pushed herself out of the chair and leaned over her desk to kiss Fred on the lips.

'What time do you get off?' supposed the boyfriend.

'Half twelve.'

Fred checked his wristwatch. 'Well, then, that's forty-five minutes. Are you going to make me hang around?'

Barbara rolled her eyes and scoffed. 'Nobody _asked_ you to drop in. Why aren't _you_ working?'

'Dad said they weren't that busy and I could have the afternoon off. Reckon he's a bit guilty that I spend the most time there.'

'To be fair,' Barbara began, plucking a hovering folder out of midair as it zoomed to her desk and signing the slip of delivery on its cover, 'you _do_ live there.'

Fred took another sip of coffee. 'If I'm being annoying, you can tell me to leave.'

'You're not being annoying.'

'But you still want me to go?'

'It would be easier to work, yes. Is there anybody else you could hang out with, just for an hour?'

Fred looked affronted. 'I _do_ have friends apart from you, you know.' Barbara chuckled. Fred continued: 'And I know for a fact James has the day off from Quidditch practice today, so I'll go and talk to him about how unappreciated I am as a boyfriend!'

'As long as Monique's not there,' Barbara muttered, keeping her focus on the folder in front of her, which she was now scanning through.

Miss Tennant wasn't a "la Roux" fan, to be most polite.

'Believe me—James cares more about me than Yoko. If she's there, he'll get her to leave.'

Barbara sighed, her attention still on the folder. 'Is it bad that I kind of hate her, Fred?'

Fred shook his head. 'I mean, I wasn't best mates with Cynthia, but I'd—'

'"Cynthia"?' Barbara asked. 'As in, John's first wife?'

'The very same.'

'Guessing that's Cordelia?' She bit on the end of her quill, waiting for an answer.

Fred nodded. 'Mhm.'

* * *

_**October 24**_

* * *

'That Cordelia Gilbert's really something, isn't she?'

'Careful, Adrian. She's still a student.'

Professor Bell rolled his eyes, and told Professor McKinnon—for it was he who had spoken—that he knew that quite well, thank you very much, and that he didn't mean it the way that it had been taken. Neville Longbottom, who was the third and final of their party, smiled good naturedly.

'How long _was_ she with James Potter, though?' asked Adrian. 'I mean, I told her the other day that he had been dating that French girl since mid-August—I was checking up on her, okay? She looked upset—and she just about fled from the room!'

Neville sighed. He would never have thought that he'd be sitting in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom on a Monday night talking to Katie Bell's nephew about the relationship history of Harry Potter's son. Then again, most of the things he had never expected to happen had gone right ahead and done so; maybe he shouldn't have found the situation so surprising.

'Ten months, was it?' Luke McKinnon suggested, looking to Neville for confirmation.

'Yes, that's it,' said the Herbology professor. 'September to July. Bit of a pity, apparently. Ginny really liked her.'

'So did Albus,' McKinnon muttered, 'for a bit.'

Adrian let out a frustrated sigh. 'You know, Potter's already moved on—I just hope _she's_ not too bad about it. Like, that she doesn't hate him or whatever.'

McKinnon raised an eyebrow. 'Why do you care so much?'

'I don't—I just don't want the Head Girl having a nervous breakdown over something as trivial as James Potter.'

Neville cleared his throat. 'I'd rather we avoided calling my friends' children "trivial", if that's okay with you.'

* * *

_**October 25**_

* * *

Gabbie Sterling was fourteen and beautiful.

Last year she'd been thirteen and pretty, and Hugo hadn't really thought anything of it, but now he was in fifth year, and he was a Prefect, and Gryffindor Keeper, and his entire mindset had changed.

They were sitting together in the library now—because Gabbie was a Ravenclaw and Hugo's mother was Hermione Granger—and the former was telling him all about the crushes her friends had on him, because he was such a fantastic Quidditch player.

'That's flattering and all,' said Hugo, 'but I'm not really into...'

'What?' Gabbie teased. 'Ravenclaws not _brave_ enough for you, Hugo?'

'It's not that—'

'Are we fourth-years too _young_?'

'It's only a year—'

'Then what?'

_Damn it, Hugo. Now you have to think of something to get you out of this mess. Why can't you have James's charm? Then again, James is a bit of a twat... Merlin, must you be thinking of this stuff right now?!_

'I... er... I like... Quidditch players.'

Gabbie raised her eyebrows. 'Quidditch players? Wow. I'll tell them that.'

'Tell who what?'

Hugo cursed himself for spacing out, for being too focused on the way that Gabbie laughed and how her features contorted and changed with the movement of her speech and how she was so, so different to Alana Harris and how that was what made her even better and—

'My friends. The ones who're in love with you? _Merlin_, Hugo, I know blokes can be slow, but that was just plain _mental_.'

'Forgive me. I'm a Gryffindor. I'm slow on the uptake.'

Gabbie chuckled. 'I'll say.'

* * *

_**October 26**_

* * *

James had always hated the nickname "Jamie". He had been incredibly vocal about it, too. But as he sat in his bedroom at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he was pondering the fact that his girlfriend Monique had used it to refer to him twice that day during their lunch date.

But perhaps that wasn't really what bothered him.

Perhaps it was the fact that, coming from a girlfriend, the nickname shouldn't have bothered him; and, now just as much as ever, it did.

* * *

_**October 27**_

* * *

'_Rose!_' Lucy sang, setting herself down beside her cousin at breakfast. 'I got this owl from Molly last night—want to hear what everyone's up to?'

Rose set down her spoon and nodded. 'Sure, why not?'

'Well, apart from James playing Quidditch and Molly working in the DMLE and Fred at the joke shop and Barbara at the IAO' —she said this all very fast—'Felix and Elena are happy and in love, Jess is bartending at some pub in Doncaster and getting Auror qualifications, Quentin's doing Merlin-knows-what, and Chris...'

Lucy faded off as Roxanne came and placed herself next to Rose, because she wasn't sure of the situation between the current Gryffindor Beater and Master Wood himself. Roxanne, who seemed to have heard the conversation, told Lucy to continue in quite a nonchalant manner.

'He's working for Puddlemere United, right?' Rose picked up. 'Reserve team?'

'Reserve team until he turns twenty,' said Roxanne, 'he told me himself.'

Lily, a couple of places down, slid up the table to address Roxanne. 'Sorry to bother you, coz, but what _are_ you and Chris, anyway?'

Roxanne shrugged. 'I don't know. We write.'

* * *

_**October 28**_

* * *

'Hey.'

Albus sidled into the seat beside Andy that day in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Bell was recommending books for Cordelia to read and the two of them were talking about some channel on the WWN. Nobody else had arrived, bar the three of them and Kevin. (But Kevin was Kevin and he was being quiet, saying nothing at all, but also kind of trying to be on the verge of Cordelia's conversation with Professor Bell.)

'Hi,' Andy responded.

She was, admittedly, taken aback that he was sitting beside her. Not because they weren't friends; not because things had ever been awkward about him and her and Bridget; but simply because the latter, the Ravenclaw, was in their Defence class, which was this class, and why was Albus sitting beside her if Bridget would probably force him out of it later?

'So, how's life?' asked Albus.

"How's life?"? Really? _We've been mates for months, a year even, and you say "how's life?"?_ _That's the thing you say when you have nothing else, when you don't know the answer to any of your own questions, or are too scared to add anything to the conversation._ That's the sort of thing you say when you have a girlfriend.

'It's fine. Usual. You would know.'

Albus raised his eyebrows. 'Oh, I would, would I?'

Andy nodded. After a brief moment, she asked, 'how are you going with—'

'Hey!' said Bridget softly, winding her arms around Albus from behind and placing her head on his shoulder. 'What's up?' She looked to Andy. 'Hi, Andy. Did you enjoy last night's desserts?'

'They were all right.'

Bridget grinned. 'I loved the chocolate mousse. Did you, Al?'

_He hated it. Scorpius said so._

'I—it was okay. Did you like it, Andy?'

_ I hated it. I almost said so._

'I agree with you. It was okay.'

Bridget smiled at Albus. 'Are you going to sit with Scorpius today, or what?'

'Why? Do you want me to sit beside you?'

She raised an eyebrow. 'I'm not _that_ clingy, Al. You can sit with whomever you choose. I'll sit with Cordelia.'

Bridget scruffed up Albus's dark hair and left for the front of the classroom, where Cordelia's things were located. She was still joking with Professor Bell.

* * *

_**October 29**_

* * *

'If you fancy her so much, why won't you even speak to her?' Shelley Corner accused. She had her perfectly primped hands on her hips and was staring at her cousin disdainfully.

Tabitha didn't blame Kevin for blushing.

'I —er—well, you know it's not my place,' he stammered. 'I mean, she's got to have time to—you know—'

'Come on, Kev,' said Shelley, not noticing Tabitha around the corner. 'She won't stay single forever.'

'But she hasn't even been single for that long! It's not _weird_.'

'You don't have to care about that. It's not your responsibility.'

'But it is, Shell. I care about _her_. I don't want her to have just got out of a relationship then instantly have to worry about getting into another one.'

Shelley scoffed. 'That's cute, Kevin.' There was a pause, presumably for contemplation. At last, Shelley gave the verdict. 'Rather you than Bell.'

* * *

_**October 30**_

* * *

Lily Potter spent much of the day before another anniversary of her grandparents' deaths being quite morbid. Albus joined her, and even Bridget participated in the dull mood, along with the rest of the Potter-Weasleys.

Melissa Jordan patted Louis on the shoulder when he got a little too quiet and thoughtful, and they went out for a walk around the grounds. Cordelia wondered what James was doing, and then hated herself for it.

All Hugo had to do was turn a corner to find himself crowded by a group of younger girls who gave him fake sympathy, for his family's past loss. Thankfully, Roxanne was passing by and she managed to save him.

* * *

_**October 31**_

* * *

'James, do you want to go out somewhere nice?' Monique investigated her reflection in the mirror, sipping at her alcoholic beverage of choice and trying to keep her boyfriend distracted. 'Perhaps that place on the Thames?'

James shook his head. He got up from where he had been lounging on Monique's couch and took a look at his wristwatch. Running a hand through his hair, he said, 'actually, I should probably go see my mum. She said there was something we were doing as a family tonight—dinner, probably. Important to dad. Which really just means she'll shriek like a banshee if I miss it, so I should go.'

Monique frowned. 'What part of that do you think makes it necessary to be rude to your girlfriend?'

James did a double take. 'W-what?'

'Your mother wants you to stay with her and your father for dinner. That's fine,' said Monique, 'but don't you think you should take your girlfriend? Considering the fact that the one time I've met your parents was a rushed greeting as they dropped off the last of your things at Grimmauld Place?'

James paused. He furrowed his eyebrows. 'You _do_ know that it's October 31st, Monique? You know what occasion that is? It's the day my—'

'The day your grandparents died.'

'Yeah. I'm really sorry, but I just...'

'Think of all the Halloween parties we could be going to, James. They wouldn't want you to be upset, not enjoying the day. You're not a child anymore—what of night life?'

'I've got plenty of it,' James told her, 'just not tonight. Tonight is important to my family. Please don't be harsh about it. It's just one of those things that you have to keep really personal and pleasant, okay?' He sighed. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

Monique sighed exasperatedly. 'Yes, all right.'

She set down her glass and jumped up to kiss James on the cheek before he Disapparated. Sometimes she wondered if she'd made the right choice. James _was_ eighteen, just out of school, and she was twenty—almost twenty-one, in fact. She had gone for the kiss on their first date, but she hadn't felt his passion. And passion was a _very_ important thing to Monique la Roux.

Then again, she was dating _James Potter_, so no complaints could be made.

* * *

_**November 1**_

* * *

**(Rush And A Push And The Land Is Ours)**

Andy was living on a diet of coffee and others caffeinated foods. She woke up on November 1st wondering just what assignment she had missed. Sennen, one of the other girls in the dormitory and the only one who hadn't thought Andy strange for the entirety of their Hogwarts experience, was brushing through her hair on the end of her four-poster.

'Morning,' said Sennen.

'Morning,' said Andy.

'What time did you get to bed?'

Andy rubbed her eyes and suppressed a yawn. 'Four hours ago. Herbology essay; I did some terrible procrastinating,' she explained.

Sennen nodded like she understood. Andy liked her. She was the type who listened to seventies Muggle music and had accompanied Andy to the kitchens a couple of times. She had even been nice enough not to ferret for information when Andy came into the dormitory streaming curse words, all connected with Bridget Davies's organs on the night of September 1, two months ago.

'We've only been at school two months,' Andy noted aloud.

Sennen nodded ruefully. Changing the subject, she offered, 'I'll wait for you if you want to walk to breakfast together. The others are probably going to be late.'

Andy smiled. 'Okay, Sennen. Cool.'

* * *

**(Hey Jude)**

This time last year, Cordelia had a boyfriend.

And a grandmother.

* * *

**(L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.)**

On November 1st, it was a Tuesday. While Cordelia sat up in her bedroom contemplating the past, and Andy Fawcett wasn't late for anything, Shelley Corner kissed Dylan McCormick, again.

She didn't mean it to be sexual, or romantic, or anything past platonic.

In fact, kissing him was a way of setting him free.

'Go and tell her,' Shelley had said, her hands on Dylan's shoulders, as she separated her face and his.

'Tell who what?'

'Tell Venice,' said Shelley. 'You're still in love with her.'

'She doesn't talk to me, Shelley.'

Shelley kissed him once more, on the lips. It was quick, no more than a peck. 'How did kissing her feel? Better than kissing me, I'd wager.'

McCormick nodded slowly.

'That's good. Tell her that. And that you're in love with her.'

'But—'

'—Dylan—'

' —Shelley, she doesn't love me.'

Shelley shrugged. 'She doesn't have to. Just make sure she also doesn't want to punch you in the face. Been there, done that. Trust me—_not_ worth it.'

* * *

_**November 2, 3 & 4**_

* * *

Wednesday, on which Barbara worked.

Thursday, on which she didn't. (Instead, she spent her time painting the ceiling of her bedroom—"The Muggle Way", Fred would note.)

Friday, on which she went back to work, and really didn't do much.

* * *

_**November 5**_

* * *

Saturday was the first Hogsmeade trip of the year, and Albus went to The Three Broomsticks with his girlfriend.

They got drinks and argued about Quidditch teams. Albus liked Puddlemere United, and Bridget liked the Wasps. They argued this much into the evening, until it was time to return to Hogwarts, but it was a fun argument, one Albus enjoyed very much.

He was happy. He was.

It was honest, unbridled. Happiness.

* * *

_**November 6**_

* * *

Sunday involved very little of anything. Seriously.

* * *

_**November 7**_

* * *

'Are you mates with Hugo?'

Gabbie turned to Bridget as the closed the broom cupboard after Quidditch practice. 'Er—yeah, I suppose so.'

Bridget slowed down to walk beside the Seeker. Cordelia and the others had gone on to dinner. She looked at Gabbie: she was blonde, with warm-looking brown eyes and skin that was just the right shade of pale. It wasn't difficult to see what anybody would find appealing in her, if anybody did.

'Is it true that he fancies a Ravenclaw?' asked Bridget.

Gabbie shrugged. 'I don't know. I mean, we don't talk about that. It's more... Quidditch, and me making fun of my friends' feelings for him.'

'So your friends fancy him?'

Gabbie looked over at Bridget. 'Why is this starting to feel like an inquisition?'

'Oh,' Bridget realized. 'I promise it's not. It's just—Al told me Hugo had said something about fancying a girl.'

'And you thought to ask _me_?' Gabbie asked, one eyebrow raised. 'I'm a year below him, not even in the same house. Why would I be able to help?'

Bridget thought about it. 'Cordelia was.'

'What?'

'With James. Cordelia was. Year below, different house...' Bridget sighed. 'But look how that turned out. Bloody idiot's already been in a relationship for two months, with some French part-Veela.'

Gabbie looked puzzled. 'That's your boyfriend's brother. That "bloody idiot".'

Bridget shrugged it off. 'Boyfriend's brother or not, he's still a bloody idiot.'

* * *

_**November 8**_

* * *

'You'll be eighteen in exactly five months,' Louis told Patricia.

'Barbara will be nineteen in exactly twenty days.'

'Fred in a month and twenty.'

'Shit,' Scorpius said. 'Time really _does_ fly.'

* * *

_**November 9**_

* * *

Molly Weasley thought it thoroughly stupid that so many of the world's problems involved love. There were people starving, dying, being hurt and oppressed and put in danger every day, and yet the thing people chose to worry about was the fact that nobody wanted to be with them?

Love dissolved, very literally on most occasions, to sex.

All of those other problems seemed more pressing to Molly —starvation, deprivation, death—and sex seemed pointless in comparison. Sure, it continued the survival of the species, and what a species we humans are, but Molly couldn't quite see the point of trivializing the pressing world issues and romanticizing sex.

Or love, depending on who you are.

That was why Molly didn't need anybody. Archie Myers had been a bad choice for a boyfriend, and now that that relationship was almost a year in the ceasing, Molly promised herself that whatever boyfriend she ended up having would only be after she had stabilized her job, got a promotion and was happy with her single life.

"If you're not happy single, you won't be happy in a relationship," she had once been told. But Molly didn't even need the second part. She didn't care for love or sex or complications. She wanted to be Molly and she wanted to succeed and that was decided on Wednesday, 9th November.

* * *

_**November 10 & 11**_

* * *

'So Monique stayed the night at your house?' Fred reiterated.

James nodded at his cousin, who sat across the kitchen-lounge-dining-room on top of the bench.

'How was she?' continued said cousin.

'Oh... er... _oh wait no_—we didn't—_that_ didn't happen—' James blushed like a beetroot. He resembled a very sunburned goldfish. 'She probably _thought_ we would, mind you, but—but... I don't know.'

Fred nodded in understanding. 'You're in love with someone else.'

'No I'm not,' said James, shaking his head.

'You are,' Fred argued. 'Stop being stupid.'

'It's no use, Fred. And it honestly doesn't matter. She's got some Adrian bloke—'

Fred burst out laughing. He almost fell off the bench. 'You have _got_ to be shitting me. _Cordelia?_ That "Adrian bloke" is Adrian _Bell_. As in the Defence professor. Cordelia hasn't got him, or anyone for that matter.'

'You're not helping.'

'She _did_ kiss you.'

'Yeah, and then she found out about _Monique!_ She probably hates me!'

Considering this the right time to speak the truth, Fred pointed out, 'she _does_ probably deserve to, mate. I mean, you broke up with her, sure, but she tried to kiss you and you didn't stop her and you also _kissed back_ and you had a girlfriend then, didn't you? And you're still with that girlfriend after two and a half months—without sleeping with her, as well—because-and-even-though you apparently love this other girl? Face it, James; you've been an arse.'

James nodded. 'I'm aware of that,' he said. 'I just—I can't get her out of my head, you know? It's like she's a stuck record, on replay, and only some of the song is playing, but it's the most beautiful song in the world —like "Hey Jude" or something.'

Fred threw a bottle at him.

* * *

_**November 12 & 13**_

* * *

On the part of the N.E.W.T. students, the weekend was spent writing four different essays. Cordelia finished on Saturday, as did most of the responsible students. Scorpius started on Saturday night and finished on Sunday night, because of Quidditch practices and the fact that Patricia just _wouldn't get off his back_ about things that didn't matter to the population as a whole.

People dried up their whisperings about Albus Potter and Bridget Davies, too. And Roxanne Weasley received a letter from Chris Wood, telling her all about life as a reserve for Puddlemere United. He also sent her tickets for a game taking place over Christmas, in the top box. Apparently, players got two special tickets per game, even the reserves. Roxanne got one, and could pick the other person.

Lots of people were jealous, including Professor Longbottom.

* * *

_**November 14**_

* * *

'It's just a bedroom!' Fred pressed. He was following Barbara as she walked down the corridor to her room, which was still located separately from Fred's. 'Come on! It's big enough!'

Barbara smiled, letting her boyfriend continue to trail behind her. 'It's just a bedroom,' she echoed. 'Why does that matter?'

'I don't see you any more than I did when we were at Hogwarts, Barbs. We _live together_.'

Barbara entered her bedroom, still with Fred close enough to kiss her if he wanted to, and began to take off her coat. She hung it on the rack by the door, then kicked off her shoes, untied her hair. It fell like a sheet around her shoulders.

Fred watched in awe as Barbara stripped off her cardigan, until she was standing in an undershirt, her floral skirt and leggings from work. He was less awestruck when that was the point of finish.

'You're a tease,' said Fred.

Barbara smiled cheekily. 'That's nice.'

She continued to go about her activities, pulling a large jumper on over the tank top, and trading in her leggings and skirt for a pair of flannels. (All of which was concealed from Fred's view, continuing on with his earlier claims.)

'Barbara,' said Fred, 'are you serious about this relationship?'

She laughed.

'Because, if you were, we would be maturing in nature.'

Barbara scoffed. 'I'm pretty sure your definition of "maturing" involves a lot less maturity and a lot more bed-sharing and lack of sleep.'

'I'm a _bloke_. I have _needs_.'

'Needs that I am sure can be satisfied in the future.'

Fred groaned. 'You're no help.' He began to fake a dramatic storm out of the room, but Barbara caught his hand with hers and smiled reassuringly when he turned back.

'One day,' Barbara said. 'A very near one. Just not tonight. Plus,' she added, 'my room is so much prettier than yours. Not to mention _bigger_. Why would I trade _that _in?'

Fred looked around. 'You _do_ have a point.' He pulled out his wand and, in less than five seconds, all of his belongings from the other room were placed in various locations around Barbara's. 'I'm moving in,' he said, 'whether you like it or not.'

Barbara rolled her eyes.

* * *

_**November 15**_

* * *

Rose wasn't sure why she didn't play Quidditch. She had never tried out because most of her attributes leaned more to her mother's side of the family, but she quite liked the game. Sport. _Pedantry_.

How different would her life have been had she tried to play for Gryffindor? Probably better, she realized. It was definitely too late now, but if she had her time again, Rose knew what she'd do.

Funny thing, time. So little of it, so many regrets.


	41. Detrimental

**Disclaimer:** 41/52. Eleven left. Zero by Rowling.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-One**

"**Detrimental"**

**Or**

"**Everything Has Changed".**

* * *

_**November 16**_

* * *

It was midnight in the Slytherin common room. Of course, it was midnight everywhere else, and usually the midnight would have been piercing through the windows, thus bathing the receiving room in an eerie, bright light; however, this was the Slytherin common room and due to the fact that the entirety of that area was situated under the Black Lake, the moonlight had very little effect.

Scorpius Malfoy had very little reason to be awake. He was the only one sitting in front of the fire now. The dormitory was too lonely. He had hated sharing a bedroom with a group of boys he barely tolerated, but perhaps being in the Head's quarters was even worse. At least sharing hadn't given him too much time to think.

Though most of Scorpius's time these days was spent being stressed, anxious, annoyed or—semi-regularly—overcome with hatred for himself, tonight was not like that. It wasn't that things had stopped. He pretended to have given up the issue; after all, it wasn't worth worrying Patricia. Even that felt like a desperate grab for attention.

But no, tonight did not revolve over self-loathing, or anything of the sort. In fact, tonight's insomnia rested with Albus Potter. Scorpius had a secret. Or, rather, Albus did, and Scorpius was lucky enough to have been let in on the details. He sat up contemplating it now: what the aftermath would be, how people would react. The whispers had only just stopped. Did he intend to fuel another fire?

It may have been Scorpius's inner anarchist—which had never been _terribly_ internal to begin with—but the idea of this pleased him. A smile danced across his lips, reflected in the firelight. It was the cunning kind, which danger lay behind, not the slightest amiss.

_Soon_, Scorpius vowed. _Soon all will be right in the world._

* * *

_**November 17**_

* * *

Andy had made quite the friend of Sennen Cartwright. Today they sat together at breakfast, with Andy's hair brushless and fairly untamed and Sennen wearing a soft yellow shirt. Upon finishing their conversation on old Muggle music, Sennen leaned over to whisper in Andy's ear.

'How old is Professor Bell again?'

Andy computed it in her head. 'About twenty-three?'

Sennen nodded, a very pretty gesture because of her lovely light brownish hair, and said, 'Ah. Yes. Okay.'

'Why, haven't got your eyes on him, have you?'

'Oh—goodness, no!'

Andy grinned. 'Well, that makes you one of the first.'

Sennen and Andy returned to breakfast, leaving both of their plates clean. The latter helped herself to a large peach and began to nip away at it as she continued to question her friend.

'Why'd you ask?' She wiped a drop of peach juice from the side of her mouth. 'About Bell, I mean.'

Sennen shrugged. 'He and Cordelia seem close—does she have any older siblings?'

'Not that I know of,' said Andy slowly. 'But I don't think they know each other from outside of Hogwarts.'

'Oh, really?' Sennen paused. 'You know, I would've thought that she and Bell were a bit of a family-friend thing, like the Potters and Professor Longbottom.'

Andy shook his head. 'No, no, no—_certainly_ not.'

'Oh,' Sennen gathered, slightly perturbed. 'Well, then, forget I said anything.'

'Why? D'you think he fancies her or something?'

Sennen blushed fiercely. It reminded Andy of Albus. (Not that she wanted to snog Sennen or anything of the like—not _just _yet, anyway.) The time came to eight thirty and, while their housemates departed, the two seventh-years joined them. They were both headed to Charms, a class which a multitude of those in their year also took. Albus caught up with them on the stairs.

'Bridgetless?' Andy asked, somewhat hopeful.

'Bridgetless,' Albus agreed.

'Not _permanently_?' said a rather shocked Sennen.

Albus, who had not spoken very much to Sennen up until this point but did acknowledge that she and Andy were friends, shook his head with a slight chuckle. He rumpled his dark hair with one hand. 'No—not permanently.' He smiled. 'Not yet, anyway.'

'Ooh—do tell,' Andy prompted.

The three of them broke away from a crowd of thronging third-years and continued up the opposite staircase to the Charms corridor. When the trio arrived to class, Cordelia was behind them with Louis, Patricia and Scorpius. Kevin Corner showed up a minute or so after, deep in conversation with Kathryn the Slytherin, though he looked a bit distracted.

'So are you stealing away my wonderful seat-mate, Miss Cartwright?'

Sennen smiled at Albus. 'Au contraire—I think I'll sit over there with Finch-Fletchley. You two can handle each other.'

Scorpius continued to walk at full speed to the fourth row, only cutting in to ask if that was Sennen's way of giving Albus and Andy permission.

* * *

_**November 18, 19 & 20**_

* * *

_Dear Barbara,_

_I'm sorry it's been so long since my last letter. Things have been hectic. Incredibly so. I thought I should probably tell you that you weren't wrong when complaining last year about deadlines. I'm growing to hate school more than ever, and that's me talking!_

_Okay—what's been happening in my life recently? (It's currently Sunday night, and I'm absolutely knackered, but my work is done and that's all I can ask for.)_

_On Friday I got invited to another of Slughorn's Christmas parties. He says it's going to be slightly smaller this year, easier to fit in one of his classrooms—I don't know where he finds his venues, Barbara, honestly!—than in the Great Hall. That's mostly because you and the others left, and there's a lot less people in the Slug Club._

_May I remind you how I deplore that name?_

_As of yet, it having been three days, I haven't had any requests. I'm honestly not expecting any. I'll probably just do what I've done for years past and mingle with the others at the drinks table or something. I doubt I'll be doing any mingling to begin with._

_Apart from being invited to Slughorn's Christmas party, Friday also marked a particularly outrageous Ancient Runes lesson. (Note: another thing I understand now is why you told me about Professor McKinnon being quite cool out of lessons.) We got told all about the old days at Hogwarts, and by the "old days" I mean when McKinnon was at school. As in, just under ten years ago. Apparently, Professor Bell played a mean game of Quidditch, even when he was in his early years here. Though, really, I'm not surprised._

_Hm... what else? Yesterday was Saturday. Obviously. Didn't do much. Had Quidditch practice, and lots of people got tired. Bridget started talking to me about how things were going with Albus and the fact he'd been sort of distant over the last couple of days. She told me she understood what things were like for blokes and whatnot but... you know._

_I don't know why I'm finding it necessary to tell you this. This is almost a roll of parchment already—pity the poor owl who has to carry this. I'm going to use one of the school ones. I don't think they've had a good run out in ages. Perhaps that's the way they like it._

_Look what's happening to me. I'm sympathizing with owls!_

_Moving on: Sunday. Tedious work. Not terribly mountainous but I didn't want to mess anything up. I still feel boring. You should write to me more. Hearing about your life, your work and your relationship and your everything is so much more interesting than being here at Hogwarts. I wish you hadn't left. I wish none of you had._

_It's late. I should go._

_Bye, Barbs. I'll write again soon._

— _Cordelia._

* * *

_**November 21**_

* * *

Barbara arrived home from work to a decorated apartment and an over-cliché trail of roses leading up to her bedroom, which she now shared with Fred solely because he would not leave. Her handbag was dropped on the kitchen table and she kicked off her shoes before even starting down the corridor to her room. It was late enough to know that Fred would be waiting there for her, undoubtedly to do something that would either be completely overdone or extremely intimate, and Barbara honestly wasn't sure which she preferred.

She knocked on the door before entering, but received no verbal response. Upon opening the door, however, she found her boyfriend sitting with a bottle of firewhiskey and what looked like several gifts. Barbara sighed.

'My birthday's not for a week, you know.'

Fred grinned. 'I'm not stupid, Barbs.'

He stood up and waltzed over to help her remove her outer layers of clothing—'You're doing this a lot lately,' she noticed—and then, with a flick of his wrist, opened the firewhiskey bottle from across the room and began to pour it out into the two glasses that lay on a tray beside.

'If we're not celebrating my birthday,' said Barbara, 'then what am I being spoiled for?'

Fred chuckled. 'A year. Of us. A _fragmented_ one,' he amended.

Smiling, Barbara said, 'There was a painful three-month break, in case you forgot.'

'No,' Fred said, 'no, I didn't forget.'

'Well, then it's only really been nine months, hasn't it?'

Fred rolled his eyes. 'Don't be like that.'

Since the two of them were standing on the opposite side of the bed to the tray on which the firewhiskey glasses were balanced, Barbara quickly escaped her boyfriend's proximity and jumped over the fluffy covers to grab one of the drinks. She sipped at it while Fred bit his lip, observing her at a few feet's distance.

After a sip or two, Barbara raised her eyebrows at him. 'Nobody enjoys drinking alone,' she invited.

'Nobody likes being told one year is actually nine months,' Fred told her.

Barbara giggled. 'You know I didn't _mean_ it.'

'Still hurts, Barbs,' Fred jested in dramatics, 'still hurts.'

'Well, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings,' said Barbara, handing Fred his glass of firewhiskey, 'but this is no time to be sulking. We're meant to be celebrating a whole_ year_ after all.'

* * *

_**November 22**_

* * *

Scorpius brushed himself off, shaking any loose bits of dirt or grass from their place on his robes, though he would have been surprised if there was anything to shake off in the beginning. This had been one of the better Quidditch practices of the year thus far, partially because all had attended and partially because Dylan McCormick was planning on asking Venice Higgs out—again—and had been unable to keep from smiling and being ridiculously jovial the entire time.

It was for this reason that Scorpius stayed behind to walk with McCormick back up to the castle. It wasn't a hard task: Dylan talked a lot and used Scorpius as something of an example, what with his relationship having lasted more than twelve months.

'What do you think?' asked McCormick.

Scorpius snapped back to attention. 'Eh?'

'What type of flowers should I give to Venice?' McCormick repeated. 'Gardenias or peonies?'

The Head Boy prided himself on his lack of flowery knowledge, and therefore suggested that McCormick redirect his question toward Albus, instead, for he was most certainly the type who knew enough about poetry to differentiate between flora.

'You think Potter would help me?' McCormick said hopefully.

Scorpius nodded. 'Al's like that.'

They were ten feet from the castle doors now, and Patricia Day was waiting outside, leaning against one of the walls and looking very pretty. Her hair was in one of those braids that told Scorpius that somebody had just told an extremely boring story, and though she was no longer wearing her Slytherin robes, a green dress was still present. How she wasn't cold, Scorpius couldn't quite comprehend; however this mattered very little, because he was thinking much less about how cold Patricia was and much more about how she was the _opposite_.

'I—er—I'll leave you two to it,' said McCormick with a slight cough. He hurried off inside, doing just what he had said he would and leaving Patricia and Scorpius "to it".

"To it" seemed to correspond roughly to ending up entwined in a clump of bushes relatively hidden from view of anybody who came by, with Scorpius's robes unbuttoned and Patricia's shoes in a footless state, ten feet from one another. They embarked for dinner holding hands, with shaking breaths and swollen lips.

* * *

_**November 23**_

* * *

Tabitha Perkins did not intend to sit beside Kevin Corner at breakfast and give him the impression that she was asking him out. Which was, of course, what happened.

'I was wondering if you wanted to come to Hogsmeade with me next weekend,' she asked, her eyes following Kevin as he took a sip of water. 'As friends.'

Kevin swallowed his drink slowly. 'I—er... I fancy somebody.'

'I know,' said Tabitha, quite knowledgeably, 'and I do, too. Though I don't think we fancy the same person. _That'd_ be the day. No—I was just asking you because I haven't been to a few of the trips and I need a new quill and Cordelia said something about you going to Scrivenshaft's every once in a while.'

Kevin had regained some of his colour now, and he smiled. 'Then... er... sure, I'll go to Hogsmeade with you as a friend.'

* * *

_**November 24 & 25**_

* * *

'Shelley, you should go. It's lunchtime; don't you want to eat?'

'It can wait.'

Professor Bell sighed. 'I'm just about to go down there myself, so I can't exactly let you stay up here in class alone.'

Shelley considered the point. She shoved her bags into her rucksack and looked back at Professor Bell, who was standing with his back to her momentarily. For a second she wondered if this was crossing the line, but then remembered she was Shelley Corner, and "lines" did not exist.

'So... what's _your_ love life like, Professor?'

He sighed, perhaps humorously, perhaps out of discomfort. 'Er... my love life's messy.'

'Me too,' Shelley told him.

Professor Bell shook his head and turned back around. 'You think yours is messy—no, yours is _teenage_. Mine's virtually nonexistent.'

He motioned for her to exit and together they began the trek down to the Great Hall. There were Hufflepuffs sprinkled here and there, but none close enough to initiate contact.

'Don't think I'm trying to be terribly _forward_, sir, but I don't really understand why that would be.'

'Why I go for people who're in love with somebody else?'

Shelley smiled. 'Well, no. Why they wouldn't want to choose _you_. I mean, you're young and you're smart and I've heard you play Quidditch well. Didn't Scorpius Malfoy tell you that you were hot once?'

Professor Bell rolled his eyes. 'Whatever, Shelley. We shouldn't be talking about this,' he said. 'I'm your teacher. It's weird, and borderline inappropriate.'

'What would be "weird" and "borderline inappropriate" would be you snogging a student,' Shelley told him as they reached the staircase down to the Great Hall, which Cordelia and Tabitha were just entering.

Professor Bell smirked. 'That's a six-year difference,' he told Shelley.

'Only if they were a _seventh-year_,' she sang.

'You're disgusting.'

'No, I'm socially secure,' Shelley corrected, then bounced off to lunch.

* * *

_**November 25**_

* * *

Friday passed slowly. So slowly that it doesn't deserve more than thirteen words.

* * *

_**November 26**_

* * *

Hugo waylaid Gabbie Sterling on her way into the Great Hall, for he had been waiting ten minutes for her to show up before he made anything look casual. 'Nervous?' he asked, on the topic of that day's Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Quidditch game.

Gabbie shrugged. 'I'll get over it.'

'You've got this,' he told her. To emphasize the pep talk, he slipped into the space behind Gabbie and began to massage her shoulders. She chuckled. One of the pale blonde curls in her ponytail brushed one of Hugo's fingers, which shouldn't have made him feel as jittery as he did.

Gabbie turned around, Hugo's hands fell back to his sides and the two of them smiled at each other a moment. 'You're a really good friend, Hugo.'

'Oh, you're just saying that.'

She rolled her eyes. 'No, seriously.' With a look around at the scarce amount of people in the Entrance Hall, she added, 'perhaps we should go and eat breakfast, though.'

* * *

'I told you there was nothing to worry about!'

Gabbie smirked. 'I wasn't worried in the first place,' she said. 'Not much, anyway.'

'Hullo there, Hugo!'

The Gryffindor in question looked up to see Bridget Davies approaching. It was she who had spoken with such a celebratory tone. Hugo wondered if she knew how Albus was feeling.

'Hi, Bridget,' he greeted.

'Talking to Gabbie, I see.' Bridget turned to her teammate. 'You _said_ you two were friends. Is he congratulating you on your brilliant Snitch capture, or trying to get inside information for when we play Gryffindor? Because,' she said in an undertone, 'if that's the case I _will_ probably have to hex somebody.'

'I'm not spying,' Hugo said, just as Gabbie said, 'does that case count for you and your boyfriend?'

Bridget didn't bat an eyelash. 'What counts with Al and I doesn't concern you, young Seeker.'

Hugo and Gabbie shot sidelong glances at each other, simultaneously beginning to mouth splutters and gagging.

* * *

_**November 27**_

* * *

Monique curled her arms around James's shoulders, leaning her perfectly created little head onto his shoulder. Her hair, straight-looking today, spilled over not just her back but now her boyfriend's; he now smiled. The two of them sat together in the middle of Hyde Park, London, which was making James a tiny bit nostalgic (for all the wrong reasons, and of that he was positive); the grass was green and the weather was the kind that made him wonder if there would be snow by Christmas. He would like that. It snowed at Hogwarts. Funny that; he hated loathed many aspects of school during his time there, but now that he would never be returning, he would have given anything to do so.

'Don't want to come out with me tonight, James?' asked Monique, looking up at him through her eyelashes, though James doubted she could see anything, save perhaps part of his nose or jawline.

'With your group of socialite, elitist mates?' (For this was what they were, most of them. They drank the right kinds of Muggle alcohol and disregarded the current season of cold in order to look better than everybody else.) 'Why not?'

Monique raised an eyebrow. 'You're very critical of them. How would you like it if I started calling all of your friends immature and childish?'

'My friends _are_ immature and childish,' said James, sitting up straighter. 'I like them that way.'

'You are _so_ eighteen.'

'Don't you love a young buck?'

Monique smiled at his teasing, then lifted her head from its resting place. She adjusted her position and kissed James upon the lips. It was soft, the kind of kiss that lingered long after, and left the one who had pulled away wishing for it even in dreams. Monique pulled away. She bit her lip. 'Young, you may be. Inexperienced, you are _not_. Even _if_ a little prudish.'

James had to fight the urge to burst out laughing. He was probably the least prudish of anybody he knew. But he understood what Monique meant, and why _she _wouldn't understand the reasoning behind his disinterest in certain aspects of their relationship.

'Well, you know me.'

For good measure, James plucked one of the nearby flowers from its place, where another grew in a split second to fill in the gap, and handed the original to his girlfriend. She blushed a pretty shade of pink, and if anybody else were in James's position, it would have been the most beautiful thing they had ever seen. It probably should've been for James, too, but for some reason he felt there was something more wonderful out there. Discovered? Perhaps. In the middle of the Scottish countryside? Could be.

To push the thought out of his mind, James leaned over and kissed Monique again.

* * *

_**November 28**_

* * *

'Happy Birthday!' Fred cried, throwing off the duvet and rousing Barbara from her slumber. In one fluid motion, he scooped her up out of bed and carried her in his arms like a bride all the way into the kitchen, where he set her down on one of the worktops and, following one of his thoughts, French toast began to make itself.

'You're _nineteen_!' said Fred, standing in between Barbara's feet, which were hanging off of the bench. 'How does it feel?'

'Sleepy,' Barbara groaned. 'Why did you have to wake me up so early? I have to go to work, you know. I'll be _so_ irritable.'

'Ah, but, my _dear_…'

The finished breakfast began to plate itself, and once this task was completed, levitated over to the kitchen table, where Fred and his girlfriend would be eating it.

'You _would_ have had to go to work today, if Felicia didn't _love_ me so much!'

At this last part, Fred whisked Barbara up off the bench and into her seat, with the French toast directly in front of her. The nineteen-year-old sighed. 'What are you saying, Fred?'

'I got you out of work,' said Fred. 'That's what I'm saying.'

'You _what_?'

'Yep! No work for Miss Nineteen today!'

Barbara sighed once more. 'That means I'm not getting paid for today, you idiot—that's six galleons of income I'm not generating, when I could be—I only work three and a half days a week, Fred! That's more than a quarter of my weekly pay, gone. I just—'

'Don't stress, Barbs. It's fine. We've plenty of gold.'

Barbara bit her lip. 'That's not the issue, I just… I want to be earning my own money, not just using what you've inherited. That's _yours_. That should be your _kids'_.'

'_Our _kids',' Fred muttered, but Barbara didn't seem to be listening. The younger of the pair swallowed a bite of his breakfast and frowned. 'Aren't you pleased? Now you've got a free day to do whatever you like—and it's your nineteenth birthday; I was going to take you out and got you whatever you wanted and… well, I can tell you're not interested in doing that.'

'I am!' Barbara said quickly. 'Of course I am!'

'Okay, that's great. Want to get washed up and then we can head out? Want to go Muggle for the day?'

Even though light was streaming through the windows, and it was very clearly late enough to do such a thing, Barbara deemed it "too early". Apparently, she was still tired. Fred sighed. At least he had French toast.

* * *

_**November 29**_

* * *

Roxanne talked about Chris and Lily got jealous, basically. Then Lucy told Lily she was being ridiculous and Lily pointed out that Lucy would know, because Lucy was a _Prefect_, and they're master snobs. Thankfully, Weasleys don't mean half the things they say.

* * *

_**November 30**_

* * *

Andy sighed. It was a very bored sigh, and not out of place, considering that she was sitting in the library with Albus, Sennen, Louis and Rose. She wasn't bored by the people, but studying had never been Andy's strong point. She spent more time doodling in the margins of parchment and finishing essays at breakfast or during other houses' Quidditch games.

'You still with us, Andy?'

'Wha—oh, yeah. Of course. It's just… I… sort of blanked out.'

Rose smiled; bushy dark red hair spilled over her shoulders, tendrils of it flowing over her face. She had not spoken much that afternoon, choosing to instead continue her essay for Transfiguration without hundreds of opportunities for distraction. Though she hadn't been talking, she had _obviously_ been listening. (Kind of difficult not to, as they were all sitting at the same table.) 'Library not your thing?'

'Not really,' Andy admitted.

'Same here,' Albus said, just as Sennen said, 'You're not alone.'

Louis and Rose looked at each other. 'Okay,' said Louis, 'that was kind of scary.'

'I guess we're twins,' Albus told Sennen.

Sennen looked him up and down. 'I am okay with this.'

'One difference between us, though,' said Albus. 'I'm in a relationship.'

'So am I,' said Sennen, sounding affronted.

There was a moment of awkwardness around the table before Sennen added, 'and Paul McCartney will be very displeased when he finds out you thought otherwise.'

* * *

_**December 1**_

* * *

**(Ours)**

'Don't you think it's a tiny bit depressing that of everybody in this room it's the _professor_ who's most excited for Christmas?' Professor Bell sighed, sinking further into his seat in the back row of his own classroom. Everybody else laughed. 'No—seriously,' he said. 'I mean, Christmas means the year's half over. It's like… I don't know. Kind of trivial I guess. Why aren't you lot looking forward to Christmas?'

He waited a moment to let people think, and then called on someone.

'Albus,' he said, standing and pointing at the Gryffindor sitting beside Scorpius. 'Why aren't _you_ looking forward to Christmas?'

'I am,' Al replied. 'But there's usually at least one essay set and it's the _holidays_…'

Professor Bell rolled his eyes. '_Essays_. Cordelia?'

The Head Girl smiled slightly. 'Er—same as Al, actually.'

Even though it totally wasn't. She wasn't looking forward to the holidays because that meant a trip back to London, which meant she would be closer to James than she had been since September 1st, and that—come January—it would be the anniversary of her grandmother's death. Bridget probably noticed her paling slightly, but declined to comment.

'Well, since nobody seems to enjoy essays—and I don't blame you; who _does_?—I won't be setting any over the break. _Certainly _not.'

'Shouldn't you be teaching us Patronus charms?' Shelley muttered.

Professor Bell smirked. 'All in good time, Miss Corner. That's happening post-Christmas. With a special guest, who is rather obvious and makes it pointless to shroud you all in mystery.'

Everyone looked at Albus, who blinked.

'Yeah. My dad. Get over it.'

Bridget let out a breathy laugh, at which Andy rolled her eyes, but thankfully nobody but Professor Bell saw. He raised an eyebrow but the Hufflepuff averted her attention.

* * *

**(Amsterdam)**

_Dear James, _Al had written.

_I can't believe I just put "dear" at the start of a letter, much less one written to you. Imagine all the stick you're going to give me because of it. I could just erase it with my wand but that's no fun. Maybe I kind of miss your taunting. Look at me, getting all sentimental._

James chuckled. Trust his brother.

_Anyway, I was just wondering how things were going with you. There's not much going on around here, and it's been a while since you last sent anybody a letter. Anybody. I'm only doing this because I want to find out what's happening in your life and things, Quidditch and Monique and all._

Al made everything sound so menial at Hogwarts. What James would give to tell him that wasn't the case.

_So. Yeah. Bye._

— _Al._

Bloody brother.

* * *

_**December 2, 3, 4 & 5**_

* * *

Thursday and Friday were passed somewhat studiously.

Saturday and Sunday consisted of very little. The following Saturday would be the Hogsmeade trip, but that meant the current Saturday was boring, and that Sunday was even more so. How disappointing.

* * *

_**December 6**_

* * *

Molly wondered why she bothered going to work on Mondays. Everybody was angry, at least six times more so than usual, and Miss Abernathy was extraordinarily stiff on the first day of the week. It had been months since Molly had caught Juliet's husband beating her (though the thought still haunted her, and not simply during waking hours), and neither of them had said anything about it. Juliet, presumably, for the sake of her safety and reputation; Molly because she wished to keep the job she quite enjoyed.

The job which, today, led her to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, in search of an object that had broken the Statute of Secrecy somewhere in Norfolk. Fifty-seven Muggles had seen a series of bewitched doorknobs honking upon being touched and complaining about their civil rights when the initial hand or finger was removed.

'Arthur's not in, sorry—he's out at lunch for a bit,' said one of the men who worked in the office. Molly didn't know his name, but she guessed that he knew hers, given the fact he was aware of her relation to their Head of Department.

'Oh, that's o—'

The whole room shook with a loud bang, followed by a burst of green light, which was (thankfully) too feeble to be identified as the Killing Curse. Molly jumped, parchment went flying around the place, bathing the whole room in papery snowfall. The source of the strange noise was ten feet away, behind a cubicle, to which Molly hurried as quickly as her formal work shoes would let her.

'Sorry! Sorry! Sorry…'

The young man behind the desk couldn't have been more than twenty. He had longish, wayward black hair, square-lensed glasses and was holding in his hand what seemed to be the source of the explosion: a curious form of screwdriver. He continued these hurried apologies until his eyes fell upon Molly, and he was silenced.

'Are you all right?' she asked.

He nodded. 'Yeah, I'm fine. I just—I've been tinkering with this, and it's meant to be _sonic_, and—'

'If it's "sonic", why is it emitting green light?'

'I… er… I don't know.'

'I'm Molly,' said she.

'Jason,' said he.

'Pleasure to meet you.' She held out her hand and he shook it, setting down his screwdriver on what remained of the desk. Molly sighed. 'Why is it that the only people I ever meet that play about with Muggle objects are working in the _Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office_?'

Jason shrugged. 'It might be a bit of an occupational thing.'

* * *

_**December 7**_

* * *

'A _sonic_ screwdriver?' Barbara exclaimed. 'You're _kidding_!'

Molly shook her head. 'Afraid not. Why? What's the big deal?'

Stifling laughter, Barbara took a sip of tea, for it was at Molly and Alice's flat that this conversation was taking place. She giggled. 'It's a Muggle thing,' she assured Molly.

Molly didn't quite understand why Barbara was half-collapsing in fits of giggles every five seconds, but she never received an explanation.

* * *

_**December 8**_

* * *

When Scorpius looked over the table at Patricia, he saw somebody who really cared about him. He saw the curve of her chin, the length of her nose, the way that she looked when in conversation with somebody she wasn't the galaxy's biggest fan of; he saw the colour of her hair and her eyes and how the two were almost identical, yet never could be, because that was impossible; he saw a girl who he had grown up with and a girl who he had kissed and a girl who had been so many firsts, but hopefully the same amount of lasts.

He had never really respected people who got married out of school, because it wasn't like you knew what you liked based off of one relationship, but with Patricia, that was completely different. That did not mean he wanted to marry her the month after graduation. He would give it years, if that was what she wanted, or expected, or did not expect (for Scorpius Malfoy enjoyed being somebody unpredictable); they had at least seven years at their disposal before it got to a point that they _had_ to get married. It had been agreed upon. _Let's get married at twenty-five_.

They had only been friends when that deal was struck. Scorpius grinned at the memory. He had fancied her so much then, but so many mistakes had been made. He had kissed Rose Weasley—hell, there was a lot more than that in the list of things that had happened with Rose Weasley. But that was long over now. None of it mattered, really.

'We've both got frees first,' said Scorpius, once Patricia's conversation with Ruby was finished and the latter was otherwise occupied.

'What's that supposed to mean?' the female Prefect asked.

'Want to do something?'

Patricia smirked. 'I know what _you_ want to do.'

Scorpius nodded. 'Probably.'

'Where do you suppose we could go and do that, though?'

'May I remind you that I have a room all to myself now?'

Patricia blushed, then smiled.

* * *

'Oh, _Merlin_,' Patricia complained, picking up her robes from Scorpius's bed; he reached for the same ones.

'Those are mine,' said Scorpius.

'No, they're _mine_,' Patricia argued.

'Mine have the Head Boy badge on them!'

'I know that! These don't—so they're _mine_!'

Patricia began to rub her mouth, for her lips felt quite swollen, but while Scorpius rummaged through the sets of robes to find out which ones _really_ belong to which person, she headed over to the mirror above his dressing table. In the process of tying her disheveled hair into a ponytail, Patricia discovered several purple blotches on her neck. These were Vanished by a simple wave of her wand, which made her quite glad, because she most certainly did _not_ want people thinking she was one of _those_ people. Everybody knew she didn't spend her time gallivanting around with multiple boys, but it wasn't as though having people _know_ who those marks would have come from seemed like the worse alternative. So, having Vanished the purple patches, Patricia turned around feeling much more fresh.

She smiled. Scorpius had found out which robes were his, and was pulling them on now. He noticed the changes she had made, that the skin of her neck was now pale and by no means discolored.

'What'd you do that for?' he asked. 'You looked wonderful.'

'I looked _Shelley_.'

'What's so bad about that?'

Patricia chuckled. 'Do you want me to go out there with everybody aware of what we just did?'

'Well, they shouldn't be _too _surprised that we just s—'

'Quiet, you!'

Scorpius rolled his eyes. 'Who's to hear us? Everyone's in lessons.'

At this, Patricia nodded. 'Where we should be, in twenty seven minutes.'

Scorpius weaved his hands around her waist when she was close enough, but in order to look him in the eye, she had to lean back a great deal, which was probably just fueling the flames and making him want to crush her in his embrace, his lips on hers and—_oh Merlin don't think that way._

Patricia tiptoed up to kiss him, which resulted in a bout of being passionately entwined, pressed with her back against one of the posts of Scorpius's bed, until approximately fourteen minutes later, when they both left Slytherin common room significantly more pleased than they had entered it.

* * *

_**December 9**_

* * *

'You don't respond well to Thursdays, do you?'

This by Melissa Jordan to Louis Weasley at approximately quarter past eight, while the two of them sat together at breakfast. She had her hair hanging down today, and she looked very pretty, but Louis didn't have the guts to tell _her_ that.

'Not as well as some other people I know.'

'Am I included in that logistic grouping?'

'Simply because you just said "logistic" and it's quarter past eight in the morning,' Louis told her, smiling.

Melissa grinned. 'So are you happy you dropped Care of Magical Creatures?'

She popped a piece of cut strawberry into her mouth as Louis replied, 'I don't know. I like the free, but I miss the animals. Not that I'm one of those wildlife freaks or anything like that,' he added quickly. 'I just like animals.'

After a moment of eating in silence, Melissa said, 'your uncle Charlie works with dragons in Romania, right?'

Louis nodded. 'Why?'

'No, I was just thinking… you like animals, so wouldn't it be fun if you got to go and work there for a while?'

'If I'm honest, I _have_ considered—'

'—sorry to interrupt you two on your hot breakfast date,' Albus cut in, followed by Rose and Liz Pembridge, 'but we've arrived and we'd quite like to eat breakfast as a group, thank you very much.'

'Shut up.'

'You love us.'

* * *

_**December 10**_

* * *

The seven frequent visitors to "Rory" had gathered there tonight, which was Friday, for a long overdue reunion. Somehow, the subject had gone from smuggled food to Quidditch to Tabitha Perkins to the lack of suitable bachelors at Hogwarts to what was now something moderately inappropriate. Actually, considering the fact that they were all seventeen and most had been in a relationship before, it was more of _risque_ commonplace. It started with Ruby.

'So is it just a requirement that the Head Boy and whoever his girlfriend is at the time just go around the place having wonderful lustful sex either in his quarters or wherever else?'

Scorpius shrugged. 'I don't know if that's a Head Boy requirement, or just my overwhelming effect on Patricia's hormones.'

Patricia pushed him off of the couch. 'Get screwed.'

'Not the issue!'

Albus shook his head. 'I doubt that's true.'

Cordelia, who had up until this point been concentrating on sipping her butterbeer and trying to write a letter to her mother, looked up. 'You know, as the only person here who has dated a non-Scorpius Head Boy, I would like to debunk that theory. It's quite the exaggeration.' The others stared at her. 'What?!' she snapped. 'Due to the fact I got all Os in my last exams, you'd think I'd have enough brain power to remember a bout of lustful sex, wouldn't you?'

Scorpius shrugged. 'James Potter may be Al's brother, but…'

'Can we _not_ be talking about my brother's sex life?!' cried Al. 'Just _please_? Seriously—anything else—any other topic—'

There was an awkward silence, ended once again by Ruby.

'…Weren't both of your grandparents the Heads…?'

Albus overturned the armchair he had just vacated and stormed out of the room, shouting, '_I can't_—' as he went.

* * *

_**December 11**_

* * *

'I didn't think it was Tabitha Perkins you fancied,' Shelley Corner said to her cousin Kevin as the two of them lined up for the Hogsmeade check-out business at the edge of the Hogwarts grounds.

Kevin, whose hands were gloved and shoved inside his pockets, replied: 'it's not. She just asked me to Hogsmeade because she wanted to go to Scrivenshaft's.' Clearly, his cousin didn't believe him. 'People do that, Shelley. They go out as friends, not just to snog.'

Shelley obviously cared very little for this portion of the population. She took out her wand and began to curl her own hair with it, as if this was the type of thing you did while conversing publicly with your cousin. However, the curling process was being disrupted by a lovely knit beanie, which Shelley pulled off of her head and into Kevin's hand, which she had forcibly removed from his coat.

'You're very abusive,' Kevin noticed.

'Thanks,' Shelley told him quickly, but whether it was for holding the beanie or for calling her "abusive" remained unsure, for Tabitha and Cordelia arrived at the moment, and together with the two new arrivals, Shelley and Kevin began the cold trek to Hogsmeade.

'That's a lovely scarf, Tabitha.'

'Er… thank you, Shelley. I like your boots.'

Cordelia caught Kevin's attention, and the two of them hung back a bit behind Tabitha and Shelley, the latter of which was talking nonstop and the former, just trying to keep up.

Cordelia sighed. 'Have you heard the new Stringmint Apocalypse album?' she asked, trying to start conversation.

Kevin shook his head.

'No, that's fine. I don't really set much in store by Stringmint Apocalypse, myself.' Cordelia smiled at him. 'I'm more of an Idris Fandango person.'

Kevin's eyes lit up. 'Really? You must be joking.'

Cordelia shook her head. 'Why would I be joking?'

'Idris Fandango is… spectacular.'

Their conversation continued like this, both increasingly shocked at the shared musical taste, until their arrival in Hogsmeade; Cordelia pulled away from Kevin, telling him that this was his and Tabitha's time, and that if anyone were to disturb them, it would not be her. She knew they were just friends, right? That neither of them had romantic intentions? Kevin and Tabitha trudged off to Scrivenshaft's shop, both feeling slightly uncomfortable.

He—Kevin—wondered how many times they would get asked before lunchtime alone, how the murmurs would start. He usually wouldn't have minded, because being related to Shelley meant you sort of faded into the background a lot, but this whole thing made Kevin feel strange; due to the overwhelming ritual that he did _not_ go on dates, as the people he fancied could and/or would never reciprocate, he had kind of given up.

'Don't worry,' said Tabitha, 'I'm not interested in what everybody else has to say.'

'What?' Kevin asked.

'I mean, I don't particularly care for anybody who's going to bring this up and make it more than it is. You know it's going to happen—this is Hogwarts we're talking about—but just so you're sure, I won't be spreading this, or twisting the story in any way.'

'Because of this bloke you fancy?'

Tabitha nodded. 'But he couldn't care less about me.'

'I know the feeling.'

'Are you honestly sure you do?'

'What do you mean?'

Tabitha blushed. 'I know you said that you fancied somebody, but you can't _really_ have not spoken to them.'

'I mean, I _have_ spoken to her—'

'Me too. The bloke I fancy. But that was at least a month ago.'

Kevin shrugged. 'Okay. Want to buy a quill?'

* * *

_**December 12 & 13**_

* * *

Everybody hated Sunday and Monday as much as usual, only this time a blanket of snow had settled over the grounds, thicker than in previous weeks, and barely anybody could go out at all.

* * *

_**December 14**_

* * *

The air of London bit at the patches of bare skin above his collar, and while the snow that was falling clung to his hair, his clothes, even on the bridge of his perfectly sculpted nose, there was nobody there to say anything about it. James Potter was standing alone, hands in his pockets, in the small park outside of his townhouse. It was silent, but he was enjoying the silence: the ghost of Muggle Christmas songs floating in on the breeze, lyrics poignant in what was—bar the song itself—complete and utter silence.

It was strange to feel like this, so alone and yet as though he was part of a large crowd, too.

James had never really been a master of complex emotions, but snow had always made an impression on him. He had hated it, for stopping his team practices, when the game against Ravenclaw was coming up; he had loved it when witnessing the phenomenon from the inside of the Burrow, surrounded by family members. Now he wasn't quite sure how to feel.

Wasn't this life what he'd always wanted, his whole life?

Wanted to leave Hogwarts and play Quidditch and live in London, presumably with some incredibly beautiful girlfriend—all of that had come true, hadn't it? Why was he now feeling unfulfilled? Why was it? He was standing out here in the snow, where he had previously felt tranquil, nostalgic and had quite a calm, almost storybook outlook on the world. Now, he felt restless.

'All right there, love?'

'What?'

'Sorry,' said the person who had spoken. She was a short girl, with gingery hair and pink cheeks. 'I can't believe I just said that. You're James Potter, though? As in, Chaser on the Magpies?'

James tried to smile. 'Uh—yeah. That is the case.' He'd had to face publicity in his life, but not as much during Hogwarts. Needless to say, this struck him quite unprepared. 'Hi. What's your name?'

'I'm Erin,' said the girl, who was probably around his age; maybe a year or two younger. Obviously not a Muggle.

'You look, what—seventeen?'

'Sixteen,' Erin said, blushing.

James raised his eyebrows. 'Why aren't you at Hogwarts, Erin?'

Her smile faded. 'Muggleborn,' she told him. 'Mum and dad are sympathetic and all, but they didn't want me to go.'

'So how do you know so much about Quidditch?'

Erin began to smile again. 'I've got a lot of time on my hands. Muggle schools don't really know what to do with me, I suppose. My parents actually thought about sending me to Hogwarts when I was twelve, once they'd realized I probably… would've been better off there… but you know. Hogwarts doesn't really _do_ that.'

'That's unfortunate,' said James, but not in a demeaning way. He smiled at Erin. 'But what can you do? You know parents.'

Erin shrugged. 'It's a bit sad, though. I would've liked to be Sorted into a house.'

'Between you and me,' James told her in a low voice, 'it's not all it's cracked up to be.'

Something in Erin's coat pocket began to ring, which made James jump and the Muggleborn groan. She pulled out some kind of thing that James guessed from what Al had told him of Muggle Studies was a telephone. 'It's my mum,' she said dejectedly. 'She wants me home.'

'Oh, well it was nice meeting you, Erin.'

Erin hesitated. 'Mind if I take a photo with you? I know that seems odd, but—you know—first Quidditch player I've ever met—'

James grinned, remembering when he met the players from the English National team when he was five, the feeling he'd had. 'Of course. No problem at all.'

Erin set up the Muggle camera and James slung and arm around her shoulders before smiling and waiting for the _click_. When the photograph was obviously taken, Erin looked grateful. 'Thanks, James.'

'My pleasure!' he replied.

And he honestly, truly meant it.

* * *

_**December 15**_

* * *

'She's sleeping.'

Albus looked Sarah Boot square in the eye, which was a difficult feat to accomplish (especially at their present location, the entrance to Ravenclaw tower), for the girl was quite petite in stature, and Albus was quite the opposite. If he were to look straight ahead, he wouldn't see Sarah at all, except for perhaps the top of her dark head of hair; but at the present angle, his bright green eyes met her hazel ones quite squarely.

'Look,' said Albus. 'I just want to talk to her. It won't take a minute…'

'I know that you're incredibly in love with each other and things, but Cordelia's been scheduling late practices, and Bridget needs all the sleep she can get. Especially considering the fact that Friday's the official end of term.'

Albus sighed. 'I guess I've got no choice if you're insistent upon _mothering_ her.'

Sarah looked at him blankly. 'I'm going back upstairs. Bye, Albus.'

* * *

_**December 16**_

* * *

_Dear Cordelia._

_I know we've been in and out of correspondence and that I replied to your last letter weeks ago, but I've got more I'd like to say and it's about the holidays. I assume you're not staying at Hogwarts, because I don't think you've ever done that before, so I was thinking about times we could catch up. Teddy and Victoire are having some kind of celebration for their first anniversary, but I'm not sure if you'll be busy on that day. I haven't seen them in months_—_they were quite secretive after the honeymoon. Wonder what that means._

_Pay me no heed, I'm just kidding._

_Hm… what else is there to tell you about?_

_Oh, yes! Have you ever been to the Beatles museum in Liverpool? I went once with my parents, but you'd probably appreciate it a lot more than I did, because of your love for that band. I don't understand it. You're just like James._

_Sorry._

_Also_—_brilliant job on getting that internship at the Prophet! It's so wonderful that you get to write that article for one of the most important games of the season! Wow. The Magpies vs. Puddlemere United. That will be insane_—_kind of like a Hogwarts reunion, though, in a way. The Potters will be there, the Woods will be there; even the whole Weasley brigade are going, I'm pretty sure. But yeah, that is a great offer for you! Your article will be incredible. No doubt about it._

_Anyway, I haven't much to say. You should be packing right now, considering you'll be on the train back to London, come Saturday morning._

_See you then! (I think.)_

— _Barbs._

* * *

_**December 17**_

* * *

Friday, the last day of term, was filled with lots of hustling and bustling activity. The halls were loud with excited talks of going home, or staying at Hogwarts, while a choir of ghosts floating around, singing songs that celebrated the Yuletide. On another note, however, there was something else brewing. It was not something, by nature, shrewd; in fact, it was quite light-hearted, but that evening's Christmas Party, hosted by Professor Slughorn in a very large, vacated room on the second floor was also a prime topic of conversation in the day that led up to the event.

Later that evening, in Gryffindor tower, preparation would be at top speed. Melissa Jordan would be wearing a lovely red dress with black lining that was, by design, quite simple, but made her look fantastic. It would, when she went down to the common room to meet Louis, make him—her date—smile, and tell her that she had never looked better. Her hair would be half sleeked up and half flowing, though it wasn't nearly as long as anybody else's. Rose would come down next, in a strapless aqua blue ensemble, with a white flower tucked into the back of her hair. She was dateless, but then again, Will couldn't have come all the way from Camden, where he was living. Neither Liz nor Lottie had never invited, but they were content with not going this year. It gave them more time to sleep in the morning, Lottie reasoned.

* * *

Things in the Ravenclaw common room were slightly different. Only Cordelia had been invited, but Bridget was also going because Albus was; the latter was extremely worried about not looking nice enough to match her boyfriend, but Cordelia assured her that she looked lovely. Her dress was much flashier than Cordelia's by far, because it was cream-coloured and ornately detailed—the kind of dress a girl waits to see in a shop window and fall in love with, apparently. She was even wearing wonderful heeled shoes to go with them. She actually made the Head Girl feel plain.

'I'm honestly considering just not going at all,' Cordelia said, seething with jealousy at how lovely everybody else's outfits had seemed, and how undoubtedly beautiful they would look in them.

'Why?' asked Bridget, applying lip gloss. 'You've _got_ to go. You're the _Head Girl_.'

'Head Girl or not, I feel like a colossus. An imbecile. My hair's not thick enough and it doesn't curl in the right way if I've so much as touched it and I don't really fancy doing a whole lot of cosmetic magic on my own appearance and I'm too tall and my waist looks nonexistent in my dress and I hate—'

'Cordelia.' Bridget shushed her, stood, then summoned Cordelia's dress from where it had been hanging in the en suite. It was a pale violet, with something shimmery on the top layer, so that it moved like stars shooting across the night sky. Just as expected, it was a stunning dress. Bridget looked back at her friend. 'You're being an idiot. Let me do this.'

'What?'

Bridget pushed Cordelia into a seat and, with a wave of her wand, had various appliances dabbing at Cordelia's cheeks with powder and slight blush and lining her eyes, somehow making them look like constellations even though they were not violet but quite a dark brown, and her hair was pulled up magically into a knot at the top of her head, with tendrils falling almost as perfectly as they had from Victoire's topknot at her wedding the previous year. Bridget forced her to change into the dress, and put on a pair of dainty flats (which Cordelia did not own, and Bridget had to transfigure from a pair of plain black ones) and when the Head Girl began to complain, Bridget altered the dress to her proportions and exclaimed, 'Voila!'

* * *

'I actually look presentable,' said Andy slowly, looking herself up and down in the dormitory bathroom, unable to comprehend that the girl in the dark blue dress was her. She hadn't been this surprised since Slughorn had invited she and Sennen to the Christmas Party as they made their way to breakfast. It _had_ seemed like an afterthought, but they were fine with going.

'I told you there wasn't much to do,' Sennen reminded her. 'You're not some hideous beast.'

'Neither are you!'

Sennen shrugged off her own white-and-gold-flecked dress even though it was the prettiest thing Andy had probably ever seen, minus the constellations in Albus Potter's eyes—she felt like an idiot for thinking that, ever, at all, _ugh_—and linked her arm in Andy's so that the two of them could head up to the second floor together.

* * *

Scorpius sat in the common room, checking his wristwatch, waiting for Patricia to come down and tell him they were going to be late for the party. (Not that he minded, of course. And they weren't. It was half an hour before it was even scheduled to begin.) When she _did_ come down the staircase from the dormitories, it was in a dress that looked like it was woven from bronze, hugging her figure and slimming it at the same time, though the latter wasn't necessary, and Scorpius's mouth _actually _fell open.

'They can take the first two medals,' he said breathlessly. 'I'll settle for third.'

'Settle?' Patricia teased, taking his hand with one of hers and leading him out of the common room.

'The party doesn't start for thirty minutes.'

Patricia looked back at him, for Scorpius was still being strung along, and said, 'I know.'

* * *

Bridget and Albus met each other in the Entrance Hall, where he took her hand and led her inside. Andy groaned.

'Hey,' Sennen muttered. 'He won't remember her dress in thirty years' time.'

* * *

Andy spent the rest of the night watching Bridget and Albus dance, and she was sure that she saw something uneasy on his face. Some kind of discomfort he was keeping hidden. His girlfriend didn't seem to notice; she was too busy cracking jokes and acting like he bored her. At one point, when Bridget went over to get a drink, Andy approached her Gryffindor friend.

'I can tell you're _loving_ this,' she said sarcastically.

Albus rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. 'Stay out of this, you.'

'But it's so much _fun_—look, Bridget's terrorizing Hugo and that fourth-year.'

At this, Albus laughed. Hugo's expression looked strained and Gabbie Sterling was remaining relatively pleasant with Bridget, because they were on the same Quidditch team, but it was obvious that the two of them had been having a good conversation before being interrupted by the seventh-year.

'I was wondering…' began Albus. 'How long does it take for a girl to get over…'

'Al!' Bridget scolded playfully upon returning to her boyfriend and his Hufflepuff companion. 'Not ruining Andy's Christmas party with more of your unintelligent blabbering, are you?'

'On the contrary,' Andy defended, 'I've found most of your boyfriend's blabbering to be quite intelligent, indeed. Why, we just finished conversing on the topic of authoritative figures showing very little regard for their inferiors' comfort.'

Bridget's smile now seemed a little forced. But Andy wasn't done.

'Oh, and _actually_—it was quite a mentally stimulating conversation, you see. Because it's rather an intriguing discussion. But wait…' Andy paused, biting her lip in concentration. 'I might just think that because of all my alcohol consumption.'

Bridget opened her mouth.

'_Alcohol consumption_,' Andy continued, making Albus raise his eyebrows and Sennen approach, ready to break up an altercation should it come to that, 'which affects almost all of Britain's teens in this day and age. Your boyfriend included.' The other three gasped, though all for different reasons. 'Sorry, Al. Needed to be said.'

Albus's eyes widened as she made to continue. 'You're not—'

'—of course not,' Andy snapped, watching Bridget sip at her glass of butterbeer. 'What kind of an idiot do you think I am? I was just trying to tell Bridget here that alcoholism is not such a tiny thing anymore. But don't worry, dear,' she said finally, 'your boyfriend's not a drinker. Not at all.'

Sennen and Albus looked at each other, shrugging simultaneously.

Bridget raised her eyebrows. 'And what was the point of that rant, exactly?'

'Well, I wanted to make sure you were against drinking. You are, aren't you?'

'Leaning towards it, yeah.'

'So _you_ don't drink.'

Bridget took another sip from her glass before replying, 'no, I don't.'

'Well, good on you,' Andy said, 'that's actually a smart decision, but… one problem, _Bridge_.'

'Yes?' she said, draining her goblet.

Andy sighed. 'I saw Kane Nott spiking the butterbeer.'

* * *

_**December 18**_

* * *

(_11:03am_.)

The last of the carriages had arrived at Hogsmeade Station twenty minutes prior, and so all of the students had taken their places on the train. As usual, at least three Weasleys could be found in Compartment W, and the rest were sprinkled all about.

* * *

(_01:16pm._)

The sun was streaming in through the windows of Compartment G, heating the room almost unnaturally. Cordelia, Andy, and Sennen sat on one of the benches, with Scorpius, Patricia and Louis on the other. Albus was somewhere with Bridget.

'You know what he's doing, don't you?'

This from Scorpius.

'No,' replied the rest.

'Well, he's—'

'—anything from the trolley, dears?'

The woman pushing the trolley full of sweets was almost cleaned out by the two Hufflepuffs in their party, and so neither heard what Albus's reason for being alone with Bridget was. (Even though it seemed obvious to them.)

'That's insane. You're not serious!'

Scorpius nodded very smugly. 'I am.'

Unfortunately, the others declined to tell Andy and Sennen what was going on until approximately three hours later, when Albus would tell them himself.

* * *

(_03:49pm_.)

'I forgive her for what she said, you know. I wish she'd told me _sooner_, but... better late than never, I suppose.'

Albus looked across the compartment at Bridget. 'Yeah. But listen, there's something I want to talk to you about.'

They had been sitting together in the compartment for almost two hours, which he didn't particularly mind, because maintaining conversation wasn't much of a problem with Bridget Davies, for she always seemed to have something to say.

However, Albus worried that if more time passed, he wouldn't be able to go through with what he needed to get out in the open.

'You know you can tell me anything—so long as it's not disgustingly personal,' Bridget added jokingly.

Albus's response was limited to a small chuckle. 'No, it's not like that. I've actually been trying to get it out for about a week, and it's just...'

'Come on; I haven't got all day.'

'I...'

'Uh huh?'

'I—'

* * *

(_04:02pm._)

Albus stepped into Compartment G and closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath; then he turned first to Scorpius, ignoring the others, and gave a small nod.

'You did it?'

He nodded once more, exhaling slowly.

Andy, next to whom he now took a seat, looked quizzically at him. 'What?'

'I did it,' said Albus.

Andy did not quite understand what was going on; the whole situation was so cryptic. She waited for the dropping penny, but nobody else spoke; clearly this moment was one solely between Andy and Albus. The former asked again.

'Did what?'

'I broke up with Bridget.'


	42. Tied Up With Strings

**Disclaimer:** It's still not mine. Get over it.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Two**

**"Tied Up With Strings"**

**Or**

**"In which we learn that New Years' kisses mean a lot".**

* * *

"Why are old lovers able to become friends? Two reasons. They never truly loved each other, or they love each other still." — Whitney Otto.

* * *

_**December 19**_

* * *

The first day of the Christmas holidays was primarily occupied by sleeping, walking around in pajamas all day, and eating much more food than was necessary, then complaining about it because it didn't taste as good as the elves' prepared meals at Hogwarts. This earned some a slap, some a smile.

Scorpius Malfoy spent Sunday at his Wiltshire Estate, which did not officially belong to him, but would one day. At approximately two o'clock in the afternoon, an hour after he woke up, the Head Boy received a letter from his best friend. (The one he did not kiss on a routine basis.)

The letter did not divulge much, for not a vast amount of things had happened in the twenty-four hours they had been apart. Andy had Apparated home from King's Cross, taking Jenna and their luggage via side-along, which hadn't really given Albus much time to talk to her. Perhaps that was the way Andy had wanted it.

Scorpius replied to this letter and told Albus to stop being an idiot, and if Andy didn't know how he (presumably) felt about her, then it had "better bloody well be apparent by New Year, or I'll hex you where the sun doesn't shine".

* * *

_**December 20**_

* * *

'Lovely, isn't it?'

'What?'

'_Christmas_,' said Barbara, who had her upper half out the apartment window now, and was sticking her tongue out to taste the snow as it fell. Upon realizing that the odds of it falling directly into her open mouth were infinitesimal, she turned back to Fred. 'You _do _realize it's our first Christmas out of Hogwarts, don't you?'

'That's disappointing,' said Fred. 'Such a disappointing life we lead.'

Barbara stuck out her tongue at him. 'You're no fun.'

'If that were true, I doubt you'd still be here.'

* * *

_**December 21**_

* * *

Andy Fawcett was not in love. She had come to think she was, for she had fancied the same person for a year and that had never happened to her before, but she really wasn't. In love. She thrived on the unrequited quality presented to her by Albus, which had come to feel a lot _like _love, but which really wasn't.

Andy was tending bar at The Leaky Cauldron on December 21st. She had taken the night shift for multiple reasons; the first being that it allowed her to get our of the house and away from her parents' watchful eye for a while, the second being it also provided an avenue to many a good food place—Muggle and magic alike—and finally, being the kind of bartender who gave her friends crazy discounts and did roughly three quarters of the proper work she was meant to, The Leaky Cauldron was a great place to entertain company. Better than her parents' Manchester place.

_ Much _better than the Liverpool townhouse. (It had been a wedding present from one of her mother's senile aunts—a wedding present, that is, they never put to use.)

On Tuesday evening, at half past eight, Andy had two hours of her shift to go. She had served drinks and conversed with virtually everyone: from Ministry workers who were complaining about their jobs and being over-worked and not getting paid enough, to young people who were either in her year or Jenna's. She liked working at The Leaky Cauldron because there was always something going on.

Somebody needed someone to talk to, or somebody to hit on when they'd had a little too much to drink, and though Andy usually qualified for the earlier category, a wizard named Fabien Scott had come in at seven o'clock and proceeded to extend conversation enough to ask her if buying the bartender a drink was something that could be done, and if she ever drank anywhere but the place she worked.

At nine o'clock, when Scorpius showed up, Andy informed him of this interaction.

'Bit seedy, isn't it?' said Scorpius.

Andy, flourishing her wand and concentrating more on the towel washing the beer mugs than on her company, shrugged. 'Occupational hazard.'

'What would Al say?'

Andy raised an eyebrow. 'I don't know. Not anything particularly chivalrous, I suppose.'

'Well, _he's_ a shit Gryffindor, then,' Scorpius concluded, gulping down his butterbeer. This, Andy noticed.

'Hm… you're drinking light tonight, aren't you? Low on the self-deprecation?'

(She did not know what had happened to him, but would had identified, had she.)

Scorpius set down his mug with a sigh. 'Yeah. Seems to be more reason to live these days.'

'Oh, _do_ tell.'

Scorpius considered it. 'The main two pluses as of yet are the fact that, first, there's no school at the moment, and second, Al's broken up with Bitchette Davies.'

Andy, who had spent a lot of time despising Bridget, laughed. 'That's a terrible thing to say!'

'I don't hear you disagreeing.'

They were quiet a moment. Andy wondered if Scorpius was deep in thought. She could never tell if he was the kind of person. On some days, he was careless; on others…

'So,' said Scorpius robustly. 'Do you still want to shag him?'

Andy almost wished she had a drink, because it would have been the perfect time to either spit-take or down the whole thing. 'Wha—what?! You are _mad!_'

'You're not denying it!'

'Shut up, Scorpius—you're making a scene! I, unlike you, need to work here, you know!'

'_You. Want. To. Sh_—'

'—_Silencio!_'

An indignant, magically-muted Scorpius looked at her incredulously, making wild hand gestures, and mouthing: 'are you seriously going to use magic on me, you twat?'

* * *

_**December 22**_

* * *

It had been just over a week since Fred's decision had been cemented, since a move he had long been inspired to make had been set in stone. But how would the others react? It wasn't as though he was making an irrational choice. Today was his nineteenth birthday. If there was any time for beginning to plan things, it was now.

_ Come on, Fred. Just do it._

* * *

_**December 23**_

* * *

Cordelia was making her way from Westminster Abbey to the London Eye on Wednesday evening. There was no particular occasion, but she didn't think a walk needed one. She had always been somewhat mystified by the architectural and historical beauty of the city, even if she had lived near it her entire life and everything down to the stones paving the street should have become commonplace by now. Sure, she could have Apparated, because it _was_ raining somewhat torrentially, but Cordelia Gilbert was an observer.

Though, evidently, not a very good one, for if she had any great talent she would have realized that the tall boy leaning nonchalantly against the wall of one of the nearby buildings with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and two brown eyes on her was James.

'Why carry around an umbrella when you can Apparate? Or just cast a spell?' he asked as she passed. He left his sheltered place under the shade of the building to walk beside her. Cordelia tried to walk on as if she wasn't debating whether to hex him or hug him.

'Sometimes it's nice to walk,' she said. 'You see more of the world that way. And Muggles do tend to be quite suspicious of people walking around in the rain, especially if they're completely dry.'

James smiled at her. He was looking at her intently, concentrating more upon the girl beside him than the path ahead. Cordelia was the opposite; so determined to not look at him that she couldn't even see him watching her. However, there was something that needed to be addressed.

'So, I heard about your girlfriend.'

'Oh.' James's confidence seemed to buffer. 'Y-You did?'

'_Witch Weekly_ actually tried to get me for a comment—the moment I stepped off the Hogwarts Express, too. Of course, I declined, but…' She faded off, but pursed her lips and explained to him why (for it was not a move driven by bitterness; instead, by consideration). 'It's your relationship—that's _your_ business.'

'Do _you_ have a... new... boyfriend, then?' James asked.

Cordelia allowed a small smile. 'That's _my_ business,' she said coyly.

'Aw, come on—you're no fun.' James told her, bumping her shoulder with his.

'I don't,' Cordelia admitted. 'Have a boyfriend.'

'Oh.'

She turned around to look at him, a begrudging smidgen of hope building in her stomach. '"Oh"?'

James hesitated. 'I just...'

'What?'

'Well,' he sighed. He looked down at his feet, moving along the stone floor of the riverside paths. 'I didn't think it'd be _difficult_ for you.'

Cordelia furrowed her eyebrows. 'What do you mean?'

'Getting another boyfriend,' said James, sliding back into his old bravado; the borderline inappropriate ease to which he had approached almost everything in his life. 'In case you haven't noticed, you're kind of perfect.'

Cordelia blushed. 'You probably shouldn't say things like that,' she told him in a very restrained voice.

'Why not?'

This, a combination of hurt and bitter: 'We're broken up, remember? And you have Monique—say those things to _her_. She _is_ your girlfriend; she has been for five months.'

'I didn't think fact could be such a horrendous thing to state.'

This went ignored by Cordelia, who said instead, 'since _mid-August_.' She bit her lip. Then, with difficulty: 'James, when we—when I _kissed_ you—'

'I'm sorry,' said James, most sincerely. 'It was my fault. I should've stopped you—or should've stopped _myself_—it was a shitty thing to do.'

Cordelia sighed, laughing a bit at that. 'Yeah.'

'You hate me,' James realized slowly. 'Don't you?'

'…Not as much as you think.'

James exhaled deeply, but not necessarily out of relief. 'I always knew girls would hate me, when I hurt them. But I never thought one of them would be you. I mean, I _love_ you, and then things went to custard, and…'

Cordelia turned to him. 'What?'

'Everything went to custard.'

'No, before that.'

'I loved you,' James said warily.

'…no…' Cordelia protested. 'You said "love". Present tense.'

James stared at her. 'I did not.'

'Yes, you did.'

More defensively: 'I did _not!_'

Cordelia sobered up. 'I hope not.'

'Why?'

'Because that would've just made everything stupidly complicated,' said Cordelia knowledgeably. 'Again.'

'Yeah. Totally.' James scratched the back of his head. 'Are you going home?'

Cordelia thought about it. 'I… yeah. Mum'll worry.'

'Well… it—it was nice. Seeing you. Are you coming to Teddy and Vic's?'

She shrugged. 'I don't know. I would, but… you know, my grandma.' Her voice tugged a bit. 'But that's probably for the better. Are you taking Monique?'

James faked a smile. 'Vic… doesn't really like her.'

'Oh,' said Cordelia. 'That's unfortunate.' She checked her wristwatch. 'I'm sorry, James—it's nine o'clock. I said I'd be back at eight, and my parents are going to _kill _me.'

'Just tell them you were with James.'

Cordelia stared at him.

'Okay, maybe don't. I—er—I'll… see you around?'

She paused. 'Maybe.'

* * *

_**December 24**_

* * *

Louis pushed out of the shop with bags lining his arms. They were weighing him down, noticeably so. However, the two young women hurrying out of the store behind him did not seem bothered by this. The trio shared their blonde hair colour (though the girls' was paler and more silvery in shade), as well as blue eyes and an air of something graceful—which had not, in total fairness, been passed down to Louis in terms of clumsiness and general persona.

Nonetheless, Louis's sisters stepped out of the shop at the end of Diagon Alley and appeared very oblivious to the fact that their younger brother was struggling with the weight of their newly-bought Christmas ornaments.

'Easy there, Lou,' critiqued Dominique. 'Don't want to break anything.'

'You're a witch,' Louis snapped. 'You could mend it if you wanted to.'

'But that ruins the whole thing, little brother,' said Victoire patronizingly. 'The mood's completely lost.'

Louis rolled his eyes at her. 'Why do _you_ care anyway? You'll be spending Christmas with Teddy.'

'Who's to say some of those aren't for us?'

Louis glared. 'I'm not your slave, Vic.'

'Of course not. Don't be ridiculous.'

'You're mine,' said Dominique, poking her tongue out at Louis, who expressed his tiredness by taking the bags off his arms and using his wand to levitate them out in front of the group. 'What'd you do _that_ for?' Dominique pressed.

'I don't want to carry them.'

'But we're all Apparating, stupid!'

'Then we'll just take a few bags each and meet at home,' Louis reasoned.

'Ugh. You're _such _a complainer. I can't stand it.'

* * *

_**December 25**_

* * *

Christmas Day went smoothly. Things remained positive, which was something of a miracle for once. It wasn't focused on romance—a welcome change—and there remained very little conflict between anyone at all. Thank the divine powers of the universe for that.

* * *

_**December 26**_

* * *

The day after Christmas, Scorpius found himself sitting on the balcony of a penthouse apartment in central London. To his left stood shops and gloriously aged buildings; to his right, another set of architectural phenomena, Trafalgar Square in the distance.

He was alone. It was a cold morning and as he exhaled, the air contrasted with that coming from his lungs; a pack of Muggle cigarettes clutched between his fingers. Scorpius looked them over, his thumb stroking the label on the packaging. He came so far as to remove one of the cigarettes from the box, but cast the stick aside before even moving to light it, feeling slightly disgusted with himself.

The penthouse had one bedroom, two bathrooms and a living-area-come-kitchen-and-dining-room that was larger than the bedroom suite alone. It would be a perfect place to live after Hogwarts; his parents had said there was nothing wrong with staying and living with them, but his rebellious streak had never allowed this to be a considerable option. He had the money from some old relative who'd bit it, and this would be a fine investment.

Scorpius sighed, breathing in the air that nipped at his exposed flesh. It was one of those moments during which great contemplation was achieved.

* * *

_**December 27**_

* * *

'Shit!'

This, from James; more out of surprise than irritation, directed at his cousin Fred, who had just told him something incredibly mind-boggling. It was a concept that James had thought about but never seriously considered. Was Fred _insane_? He was older than James, though this was only by three months, so it wasn't like the difference in ideas came from age.

This seemed like such a mature decision, though. Then again, Fred had always been very mature when it came to Barbara. Perhaps it was perfect, in some respects.

James sighed once more, just trying to get the shock out of his system. '_Merlin_, Fred. That's a... that's a big step.'

'I know,' said Fred, 'but it just feels like the right thing to do. I love her so much. Why waste time waiting if the answer will be the same now as in five years?'

'Because, in five years, you'll be twenty-four? And probably much more rational?'

Fred rolled his eyes. 'Look, James—you and I have never shared the same values when it comes to relationships, and I'm fine with that. It's just... when you love someone as much as I love Barbs, you have to do something about it. I don't know if you've felt that yet.'

'Are you _actually _talking down to me?' James questioned incredulously.

Fred shook his head. 'No. I'm not. I'm being honest; and I'm in love with my girlfriend. I love her more than life and I keep saying it and you're getting annoyed and uncomfortable and to be honest I am, too, but it's just—it's so important that I _do_ this, you know?'

'Er... yeah?'

'Exactly!'

'So you've bought one already?'

'Yeah.'

Upon pulling the purchase from his pocket and handing it to his cousin for inspection, apprehension began to creep in. However, James responded as follows:

'Shit—that's _massive_—it'll be a surprise, _definitely_—a nice one, though—just—'

* * *

_**December 28**_

* * *

'Roxanne!'

Addie Fairchild frowned. She watched the girl in question turn, as did the rest of her family. The entrance to the stadium was not very crowded for the moment, though perhaps this was owed to the fact that the game did not start for another hour or so. The players were barely warming up yet. The Weasleys were there—presumably—because they wanted to see James and wish him luck, for it was quite a proud occasion.

'Chris?!' Roxanne cried in disbelief. She beamed at him (an utter cliché in the eyes of Miss Fairchild) and left her family, who were all smiling as well, to meet up with the reserve Keeper. He stood a little way across the hall, and when she reached him, he enveloped her in his arms.

Addie watched as they held each other tight; Chris looked very happy, and his eyes were clenched shut, as though he was just drinking the fact that Roxanne was here in front of him and he was holding her after four months of practically no communication. That's how it seemed to Miss Fairchild. She couldn't see Roxanne's face.

He seemed to be whispering something to her, Chris. From what Addie could make out, he was saying, 'I've missed you; I've missed you so much,' and Roxanne pulled away from him slightly, framing his face with her hands, and then kissing him, hesitantly at first but then growing in comfort and feeling. Addie turned around to check if Roxanne's family was watching, but they had all gone further into the stadium, probably to see James before the match started.

'Hi,' said Chris quickly, as he and Roxanne hurried past Addie into the stadium; most likely to talk or find some kind of secluded dark corner.

Addie smiled back, a little too late.

'Who was that?' Roxanne murmured, though Miss Fairchild could still hear.

'Oh—the assistant coordinator for bookings at the stadium,' Chris replied. 'Only met her once or twice.'

Addie Fairchild's face fell. They had only met once or twice, sure; but in those two meetings, Addie may have fallen in love.

* * *

Cordelia Gilbert felt quite uncomfortable. She didn't have a problem with being at a Quidditch match and getting to watch it live, but the fact that she was a gangly seventeen-year-old in a room full of successful journalists was making her very nervous. She was sitting in the second row of the executive box, with two vacant seats on either side. There were Quick-Quotes Quills everywhere.

However, the universe did not seem to have much love for Miss Gilbert on this particular night, for at that moment—in the preparatory minutes in which players could speak to reporters—a couple of people showed up whom Cordelia was not incredibly eager to see.

'Cordelia?'

She wheeled around, though it wasn't as if she should have been surprised. 'James?'

'We've _got_ to stop meeting like this,' he said with a grin, 'what are you doing here?'

Cordelia seemed quite surprised that nobody had told him, but she shook this off. It didn't matter what James knew. 'I've got an internship with the _Prophet_; they want me to write an article on the Magpies/Puddlemere United game.'

'Which I'm playing in,' said James.

Cordelia swallowed. 'Yes.'

And then came the moment Cordelia _really_ wished could never have come. "She" strode across the room in a bright white cocktail dress, skin-tight without being indecent and ornately layered at the neckline. Her dark hair would have been effortlessly wavy, spilling over her shoulders and back, but Cordelia knew it was all choreographed. "She" had glossy lips and a faultless complexion.

"She" was Jezebel, Helen of Troy, Venus and Irene Adler. A deity, worshipped by men, armed with red high heels to match her lipstick.

'Oh, who's th…' Monique la Roux broke off, eyeing Cordelia up and down, silently assessing every flaw. 'Jamie,' she began again, and continued with her voice thick and patronizing, 'you didn't tell me _she'd_ be here!' She turned to Cordelia, wondering why the latter had a smirk on her face. 'Shouldn't you be back at Hogwarts, dearie?'

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. 'I'm on school holidays,' she said sincerely. 'Back on the seventh of January.'

'Ah.' Monique smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. 'Well, what are you doing in _this_ particular place? Surely you didn't make the trip just to see my James here?'

'No, er—actually, I'm writing an article for the _Prophet_.'

'Oh. Well, that's... nice,' said Monique through gritted teeth. 'Come on, Jamie—your team will be waiting.'

James snapped back to attention. He seemed to have spaced out. 'Oh, uh... yeah.'

Monique wound one of her arms around James's; a pointed gesture. 'Bye-bye, Cordelia.'

'See you, Poppins,' James said quickly as Monique steered him away.

The smirk reemerged on Cordelia's face, and she called back, 'bye, _Jamie_.'

* * *

_**December 29**_

* * *

'Come to give James your congratulations?'

Melissa shook her head, fiddling with her gloves. Melting snow clung to her dark hair. 'No—no, I haven't.'

Louis scratched the back of his head. Visiting James's townhouse in Grimmauld Place… he hadn't planned on having visitors. He probably looked like an idiot. That's why he was standing with Melissa Jordan in the doorway and feeling quite strange in doing so. 'Oh—er—'

Very suddenly, Melissa leaned forward and kissed him on the lips; and in the kiss, Louis smiled.

* * *

_**December 30**_

* * *

(_December 20_)

'What've you got there?' Scorpius leaned over his girlfriend's shoulder, for she was reading something in the _Daily Prophet_ and he was quite inquisitive. '_Job_ advertisements?' he continued in disbelief, before she could respond. 'What's that one—Flourish & Blott's? Missus Haversham's Novelty Wand Emporium? That sounds _mental_—bet it'd be a load of fun—why are you looking at this now? We've still got six months left at school, you know.'

Scorpius sat and slid Patricia's drink across the table, then took a sip of his own. The midtown cafe was quite nice, a little pocket of Westminster quality tucked into a corner of Wiltshire. There weren't very many people around, and all of them sat far enough away not to notice the moving pictures on Patricia's newspaper. (They were in the Muggle world at the moment. The food was worth it.)

'Yes,' said Patricia, 'I know. Doesn't mean I can't look, though. I might be apt for one of these jobs. Never too early to start.'

Scorpius chuckled. 'You're not seriously worried, are you?'

'Not all of us have a place to slide into at the Ministry,' Patricia reminded him. 'And no, I'm not worried. I just don't want to be a nine-to-five currency handler at some hoity-toity backhand branch of Gringott's like my father, all right?'

'Then be like your mother?'

'_Real estate?_' Patricia groaned. 'Most magical properties are passed down like dynasties anyway. I don't know how mum ever got into that business in the first place. Now,' she continued, 'if you'll _listen to me_, I'd like to do something I enjoy. I _enjoy_ music. Now I'm not saying that I want to be a singer, or bass guitarist for some kind of _Weird Sisters_ tribute band, but there's an ad here'—she pointed to it so Scorpius could see—'for a band called Tumbleweed, and they're asking for a manager.'

Scorpius bit his lip. 'Tumbleweed?'

Patricia ignored him. 'Anyway, they've got a gig on the thirtieth, and apparently, interested parties should meet them there.'

'You're not an idiot, Trish. You don't even know who they _are_—and don't look at me like that, "Tumbleweed" isn't enough to go by—'

'The bloke that filed the ad is called Roy A—'

'—oh, wow, where's Siegfried?'

Patricia's eyebrows furrowed. Scorpius muttered, 'Muggle thing.' (Which still did not explain why he knew about it.)

'Look, can you not be such an arse about this?' Patricia was quite annoyed at this point. 'I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me, but since you're _so_ opposed to _everything_ I try to do with my life—'

'—no, no, no—of course I'll come.'

Patricia looked expectant.

'And I won't be an arse.'

* * *

(_The Present_)

There was a room backstage where the people seeking to manage the band could meet up with them after the gig, and it was in this room that Patricia found herself on the night before New Year's Eve. Scorpius stood beside her, his right hand clutching her left. He was being quite brooding tonight, and she deduced that this was the "Protective Boyfriend" act.

'Can't we just leave?'

'No—shut up.'

She had quite enjoyed the gig; Tumbleweed played good music, reminiscent of bands that she'd liked from the sixties, along with some more modern touches. Their anecdotes in between musical numbers had been hilarious; even Scorpius had laughed.

The four members of Tumbleweed entered. They had varying shades of hair from blond to dark brown, and all four of them were male. They had to be at least a year out of school, but Patricia didn't know any of them by any means. Later, she would find that only one of them was actually _from_ Hogwarts (Benji): the other three had been educated at the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts (Roy, Harrison and Tom).

'I honestly cannot believe that there are four people who want to be our manager,' said the one with the darkest hair, Roy. He had put the ad in the _Prophet_.

'Five,' muttered a tall curvy woman in the corner with a nod to Scorpius.

'Four,' Scorpius corrected, clutching Patricia's hand tighter. 'I'm here with her.'

The four Tumbleweed lads grinned.

'So,' said Tom the dual bagpipe player and guitarist, 'if you'll come over here and sit down, one by one… just a bit of an interview process; we'll talk to you about your previous experience, why you want to do this, payment… all of those boring-yet-necessary things.'

The interview process began, though it didn't seem very serious.

The first person to volunteer for interview was a man named Daniel, whose motives Patricia didn't really understand. He looked like he was about thirty, with uneven stubble and a bit of a twitch in his right hand. She overheard him explaining that he had been unemployed for a while, and that he had done a lot of work with marketing at the Ministry.

'Kind of bloke who can't keep it together,' Patricia muttered to Scorpius. 'Poor guy.'

Scorpius snorted. 'More like can't get a _shag_—can you _see_ his jumper?'

'That's an awful thing to say.'

'It's two sizes too small.'

'So is that woman's skirt.'

'I hadn't noticed.'

This tall, curvy woman with the tiny skirt was up next for interviewing, and she spoke with such obnoxious confidence that Patricia could hear her from across the room.

'Well, I don't have very much experience in this field, but I really enjoy listening to music. Yours was pretty good. I've done some research and I heard that managers get a pretty good percentage of what the band itself makes…'

That interview bled into Patricia's, which she would look back on and think went quite well.

'Hi,' said the lead singer, Harrison. 'What's your name?'

'I'm Patricia. Patricia Day.'

Benji, the blond bassist and—for two songs out of twelve—the ukulele player, smiled at her. 'Nice to meet you, Patricia.'

'Tell us a bit about yourself, eh?' (This from Roy, who played drums and the portable pipe organ.)

'Well, uh… I'm seventeen, about to finish my last year at Hogwarts… I don't really know what I'm going to do once I'm out, so I'm trying to look for things I'd be interested in—and I ended up here. Um… I don't really have much experience in terms of working and stuff, but I've loved music since, like, _ever_, so…'

She faded off, feeling inadequate. The four boys smiled.

'What kind of music do you listen to?' asked Benji.

'Er—Coriander Dippet, Kipping with Kelpies, Doxy and Dublin, a bit of Idris Fandango…'

'What do you think of Sickles and Knuts?' Harrison enquired.

Patricia grinned, for she knew the band. 'I prefer galleons,' she joked, quickly continuing with: '"Peppermint Phoenix" is my favourite album of theirs.'

'You _do_ know your music,' Tom remarked, twirling an imaginary goatee. 'What would you want to be paid? If you got the job next July, when school's over.'

Patricia thought about it. 'I'm not sure. It depends if this would be a full-time, all-day-every-day occupation.'

'It wouldn't be; we're not _that_ famous,' Benji muttered.

'Okay, then…'—for his comment did not go amiss with Patricia—'I'd want a reasonable amount, but I see myself working two or three jobs for a while. Just until I get proper footing.'

'What jobs do you see those being?'

'Er… well, _this_, if I get the job; and probably part-time at The Leaky Cauldron, because my friend already works there and they're looking for people _all the time_, and if a third job was necessary, I'd maybe work somewhere like Flourish & Blott's or that record shop that just opened up in Diagon Alley.' She blushed. 'I don't know.'

Roy looked impressed. 'For someone who "doesn't know" what they're going to do once they finish school, you seem to have quite a few ideas.'

'…And I'm pretty sure that's all from us,' Tom said with finality, though he was smiling. 'Don't want to keep your boyfriend waiting.'

Patricia thanked them, stood and turned to move across the room to Scorpius, who looked both interested and tired, if such a thing were possible.

'We'll send you an owl, if you get the job,' said Harrison.

Patricia smiled and she and Scorpius turned to leave, interlacing her arm in his once again, and as they opened the door to leave—Scorpius had seen a Muggle restaurant on the street opposite that he wanted to check out—both could hear Tumbleweed deliberating, before they called the final person to be interviewed.

'Of course, we couldn't take her until July…'

'Maybe that Melanie woman could fill in until then?'

'What? And then just chuck her out?'

'We could explain that it's a temporary position before we actually _hire_ her…'

'I don't—'

* * *

_**December 31**_

* * *

'I'm not drinking this time!' Albus announced the second he popped into presence at his uncles' shop in Diagon Alley. He had come first from his own house, then gone to James's, and now he was here. His brother didn't seem to be. Albus continued further into the shelves of the multi-storey establishment but stopped when he heard a voice.

'Hello to you, too.'

Albus wheeled around, for the voice came from behind him. It was quite familiar, but he hadn't seen the person to which it belonged for a few days; even on that occasion, he hadn't really been able to talk and properly reunite with the former Head Girl. '_Barbara?_'

'_Albus_,' she replied, slightly sing-song.

'Hey!' said Albus, quite pleasantly surprised. 'It's five o'clock; the shop closed at noon for New Year's Eve—what are you doing here?!'

'At your uncles' shop after hours?' she asked, poking one of the samples of Peruvian Darkness Powder and coughing slightly as it emitted a small puff of black dust. She waved it away with one hand.

'Yeah… _oh._ Right. You and Fred live upstairs.' Albus followed Barbara, who gestured to the staircase leading up to higher floors. He nodded. This probably wouldn't be a short visit. 'What's it _like_?' he asked. 'Living with my cousin, I mean.'

Reaching the second floor of the shop, Barbara replied, 'well… it's—it's nice. How's Hogwarts?'

'Without all of you?' Albus scoffed, watching her pull a wand from the pocket of her coat and flourish it in the direction of a massive poster for Nosebleed Nougat that reached from the ceiling to the floor. 'Quite boring, if I'm honest.'

'Sometimes boring's for the best, though,' Barbara said wisely, watching the poster roll itself up to the ceiling-stuck part and revealing an opening behind it.

A door, which opened at Barbara's murmured "Alohomora", then a narrow spiral staircase to the apartment above the shop. They stepped onto it and, like the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts, the stairs began to revolve, and moved the two of them up without either having to walk.

'Yes,' said Albus, 'that's true. This boring is good.'

'So why'd you come to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes on _this_ particular occasion?' asked Barbara, pushing open the door at the top of the staircase—for they had now reached their destination—and entering, just in front of Albus, the little area of corridor in front of the door to the apartment, where the various entrances to the dwelling met. 'To inform the empty air of your sobriety?'

'Well, no,' Albus admitted. 'I was actually looking for James.'

'James?' Barbara echoed, closing the door behind Albus as he entered the house. 'What would James be doing here?'

'He wasn't at home, and Grimmauld Place is empty.'

Albus, upon Barbara's gesture, sat.

'Oh—okay. Was it something that you could only tell James?' she asked. A wave-of-wand later, there were two bottles of butterbeer hovering through the air and setting themselves down on the table. Barbara joined Albus at the kitchen table. 'Or could I substitute?'

The seventeen-year-old was initially hesitant. 'I… suppose you'd be all right. James is a pretty bad listener anyway. You'd give better advice.'

'Okay.' This statement came accompanied by a swig of butterbeer on the part of both the person offering it up and the person it was directed at. 'Sure. I'm all ears.'

'Well… I'm not drinking this time.'

'As you said.'

'Yeah, but I'm going to Scorpius's New Year's Eve party, same as last year, and I'm going to stay sober the whole night. Because of something that happened the last time I _wasn't_ sober… which was something that led me to make quite a few stupid decisions, and… yeah.'

Barbara looked at him intently. 'Can you tell me why?'

'Why what?' asked Albus.

'Why you want to stay sober,' Barbara particularized. 'What happened last time?'

Albus stayed silent, causing Barbara to eat her words. 'You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, it's just…'

'No. Okay. Sure.' Though he was not sure what was pressing him to do it, Albus took a deep breath and began to recount the events of the past few months. 'Basically, I fancied this girl, and the only time I had enough guts to tell her was when I'd had a bit. And we almost kissed, but then she said she didn't want to, because I was a bit _inebriated_. So yeah.'

Barbara nodded to show that she had ingested this information. 'So you're staying sober to see if you can get anywhere with this girl?'

'More or less.'

'How long have you fancied her?'

Albus thought about it. 'Since… April, I think?'

'Since _April?_ And it's not that Davies girl?'

_Certainly not. _(Bridget had been nice enough, but she had been a better Prospective Girlfriend than an actual one.)

'No,' said Albus.

'Then why did you date her?'

He gaped. 'I thought I'd spoiled my chances!'

Barbara rolled her eyes and exclaimed: 'oh, Merlin, Al—_dating_ another girl would have been the thing that _did_ spoil your chances!' She sighed. 'Who is she?'

Taken aback: 'What?'

'The girl you fancy. Who?'

'Er…'

'Don't tell me if you don't want to. But she's going to Scorpius Malfoy's party, right?'

'Yes.'

Barbara thought for a moment. 'You're doing the right thing by not wanting to drink.' She sipped at her drink and resumed. 'Tell me about her. Is she single? Does she fancy someone?'

'Single, yes.' (He had ensured that fact.) 'Fancy someone…? Not that I know of.'

'Well, then you've got a chance.'

'Er… okay.' Simply to have something to do, Albus checked his wristwatch. _5:09. _'I'm going to go now. Less than an hour until the party.'

Barbara smiled. 'All right. It was nice seeing you again, Al.'

He nodded, holding up the butterbeer bottle: a gesture of "thanks". 'Yeah.' He stood, but before Apparating home said, 'I _do_ miss you, you know.'

'I know.'

They both paused, caught nostalgic for a moment. Barbara snapped back to attention first.

'Andy,' she said.

'What?!'

'I'm assuming that girl is Andy Fawcett because she's sure as hell not Cordelia; so you should go. If you think tonight's the night.'

'I do. Sort of.'

'"Sort of"'s all you've got, Al.'

'I know.'

Barbara grinned. 'Tell me how it goes.'

'Oh, trust me. I will.'

* * *

Andy adjusted the hair that had bunched up at the back of her collar. She assessed her reflection in the mirror, annoyed at the fact that she was clearly spending too much time worrying about her appearance. Hannah had given her the night off, for which Andy was appreciative, and now she found herself applying makeup to her seemingly perpetual eye-bags and painting her lips a glossy shade. She wasn't quite sure why she was doing this. She never really dressed up for school. There was just something _about_ tonight.

'Are you sure it's okay that I'm coming?'

'Of course it is,' replied Andy, rubbing her lips together to spread out the lipstick. 'We can bring a plus-one if we like.'

Sennen, sitting on the other girl's bed and leafing through one of the stray books Andy had lying around, looked at her with one eyebrow raised. 'So I'm your date.'

'It's only as romantic as you want it to be.'

'You're the Watson to my Holmes,' Sennen told her fondly, from behind the folds of Andy's book.

Andy raised an eyebrow. 'I'm assuming this is one of your Muggleborn things.'

'Yes.'

She turned, smiling at Sennen, the ghost of a laugh gliding over her face. Andy brushed over her dress, which she had firstly been averse to wearing but had put on after encouragement from her companion. Sennen _was_ awfully kind.

'Are you _trying _to get me to marry you?' asked Andy.

Sennen seemed unfazed by this sudden enquiry. 'Nah. We're too similar.'

'You have better hair,' Andy said before returning to the mirror and getting out her wand to fix up final touches on her hair and clothing.

'You have Albus.'

Andy almost dropped her wand. For Sennen's sake, she tried to appear nonchalant. (This was, of course, a completely transparent attempt.) 'I don't _have_ him.'

'You have him more than I do,' Sennen stated.

'You have me.'

Ignoring all sultriness: 'He has you.'

'He doesn't _have_ me.'

'Don't be stupid.'

'You _do_ remember me saying "we're too similar"?'

'Shut up,' Andy snapped.

'Make me.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Stop trying to make me give up men altogether.'

'I'm not,' said Sennen delicately. She set down her book and moved to Andy's side, surveying in the mirror first herself and then her friend, whose shoulders she gripped. 'In _fact_, I'm trying to get you a boyfriend.'

Andy cast her a sidelong glance. 'That's kind of you.'

Sennen shrugged. 'Can't be far off.'

'How can you say that?'

'He broke up with his girlfriend,' Sennen said with enunciated exaggeration. Her eyes, wide now, looked directly into Andy's. She crumbled.

'I feel selfish. Who do _you_ fancy?'

Casually: 'No one.'

'Really? 'Bless you.'

'Ready to go?'

Andy's eyebrows furrowed. 'Do I look alright?'

'You look great,' Sennen reassured her.

'Don't make me come over there.'

'Please don't flirt with me.'

'Can't restrain yourself?'

Sennen raised her eyebrows and did not look impressed.

'Fine,' Andy grumbled. 'We should go. But I _do_ warn you—if I don't snog a hot bloke tonight, I _am_ coming for you.'

* * *

'Are Scorpius Malfoy's parties really as crazy as everybody says?'

Louis put an arm around Melissa and the two of them continued through the Chelsea street, for this was where they had met up. 'Nah,' he replied, 'they're really quite chilled out. You wouldn't expect it, would you?'

'Not really.' She shivered from the cold and he held her tighter. Melissa smiled. 'He lives in Wiltshire, right?' Louis nodded; this gesture was not seen by Melissa but felt, for the weight of his jawline against her hair as she leaned into him moved momentarily. 'And it's okay you're bringing me? We're not close, Malfoy and I.'

'Of course. We're allowed to bring someone if we want.'

She moved from her place resting against him to create eye contact. 'I just—'

'Mels,' Louis insisted. 'It's _fine_.'

'Are you sure—'

'Melissa Jordan, if you ask me if I'm sure _one more time_, I will take you back home and not speak to you ever again.'

She laughed. 'All right, then. Are we Apparating?'

'Will you feel offended by side-along?'

'Well, I don't know where Malfoy's house is,' said Melissa, lacing her fingers in Louis's. 'We should find somewhere a bit more secret first, though.'

_If Scorpius were here, he'd be making a joke out of that_, thought Louis. Still, he let Melissa pull him along into a small alleyway between a café and a couture design shop. It was fortunately vacant from loiterers and the two shared a brief kiss before spiraling off into darkness.

* * *

It was eight o'clock in the evening. The cabin at the back of the Malfoy property was bursting with activity. Andy and Scorpius were mixing butterbeer and/or firewhiskey infusions for those who wanted them, though in all fairness there wasn't very much do to. The guest list consisted of the same people who had been there the previous year, as well as Cordelia, Sennen, and Melissa.

The latter two qualified as "dates", but Cordelia had come of her own accord and had been over at the magically-engineered record player talking for the better part of an hour, either to Patricia about her Tumbleweed interview and whether or not it had gone well, or to Sennen, who liked Muggle music like the Smiths and the Beatles, both of which Cordelia enjoyed as well.

Louis and Melissa had maintained conversation with Albus for a while, however when they went to spend some time away from Scorpius and Andy and the mixing of drinks, he did not.

'Are you considering doing this after Hogwarts?' he asked Scorpius, gesturing to the finesse with which he mixed various drinks.

Scorpius shrugged. 'Dad wants me at the Ministry.'

'Too bad,' said Andy, taking a sip of her own butterbeer. (She, Albus noticed, had not touched a drop of anything stronger in the two hours the "party" had been going.) 'Hannah's always got openings at The Leaky Cauldron.'

'Is that what you'll be doing, then?' Albus asked Andy.

She smiled. 'Somebody has to.'

Scorpius looked between them and rolled his eyes in obvious disgust. 'Can you two take it outside?'

'Why would—'

'—Just go, idiots.'

Albus and Andy glanced at each other, then sighed simultaneously.

'Nothing for it,' said Andy. 'Guess we're going for a walk, Al.'

* * *

The sky was dark; almost carelessly littered with stars, points of light in haphazard indigo. Yellow rays emanated from the cabin, making their path easier to decipher. There wasn't much of a path on which to walk, more of a large paddock to pace around on—which was exactly what the two seventh-years ended up doing.

The snow on the grass was still visible, and—Andy found when she took off the high heeled shoes that she most certainly had _not_ grown accustomed to wearing—numbingly cold. It would have hurt, but Miss Fawcett was a witch, and such things do not hurt witches.

Clutching the strappy cream-coloured shoes in one hand, she looked over at Albus. He had his hands in the pockets of his jacket and the cold had made his face flushed slightly; there were hints of pink on his cheeks, and she could see streams of air flowing from his mouth and nose as he breathed. She forced back a smile.

'So,' she said. 'Do you take girls for walks often?'

Albus looked puzzled by the question. 'What?'

'Well, if I remember correctly, we were doing this same thing in Ireland a few months ago. Is that how you got Bridget to be your girlfriend? Took her for a walk and kissed her?'

The pink tint in Al's cheeks augmented. 'Sounds about right.' He breathed out deeply. 'I don't really want to talk about Bridget. That whole thing was a mistake.'

Andy looked down. 'We all make mistakes.'

'I suppose we do.'

They strolled over to the side of the cabin where the trees came closest. Both were digging for conversational topics. Albus found one first.

'How was your Christmas? No homicides within the family, I should hope.'

Andy laughed. Even in the darkness, Albus thought she was quite pretty when she laughed. 'No, thankfully not. All mass genocide was avoided.'

'Did you get the gift I sent you?' he asked, quite nervous.

'"_1000 Ways to Make Cake Better Than Your Peers_"?' Andy remembered, smiling for she was quite fond of the book and it was hard to stop smiling in the presence of Albus Potter. 'I love it. I'll bake you something out of it next time you come to the kitchens.'

Albus nodded. 'I'd like that. It's a date.'

Andy looked at him.

'I didn't mean—'

'—I know—'

'—I—'

'—I understand, I really do…'

Both were blushing at this point.

'…but you know…' said Andy quietly. 'I wouldn't have minded if you did.'

Albus looked up at her, searching her face for something of a change, but everything was still the same: same large brown eyes, same curved, almost long-but-not-quite nose, same full lips, red with lipstick now; his gaze lingered there momentarily, before returning to Andy's eyes.

'How different would things be,' Albus began to ask, 'if we were sober back in Ireland?'

Andy bit her lip. She felt as though it took forever for her to reply, when it reality it was just a few seconds. 'Very much so.'

Albus hesitated. 'Would that have been all right with you?'

'Would've been fantastic.'

'Really?'

Andy nodded.

Albus smiled. They were standing quite close now. It could have been that he hadn't noticed, because he had, and every cell in his entire body had been in utter shock, and he now found himself standing over her, which was quite an easy thing to do for he was formidably tall and she was formidably short and there was not much space between the two of them.

She was looking at him like she didn't know where to go from the place they were currently in, and they had never maintained eye contact for such an extended amount of time, and in both their minds was apprehension and their gaze was alight with it, for there seemed to be very little else in the world but this.

Then Andy, who had been waiting months for this and did not intend to wait any longer, reached up and kissed Albus on the lips.

It may have been seconds or minutes or even an hour but Albus would later doubt the third option because all he could remember in that moment was that he was so pleased to finally be kissing her—kissing Andy—and her arms had found a way around his neck and his around her waist and then there was the strangest knocking sound and the two broke apart to see the entire party of others at the window, with the curtains open and it was blatantly clear they had been watching the kiss unfold.

Scorpius, at the front of the group, winked.

* * *

_**January 1**_

* * *

So, if you remember the set of prophecies from last year, we will find that several of them have already unfolded. James's bad decision, Albus's decision not being the _right _one (until the previous night, of course), Cordelia raising two or three questions; Fred's good decision had been made, but Hugo's hadn't—leaving us with Scorpius's good question, Louis's unanswered one, Patricia's response to an important phrase, and Barbara's to one of equal (if not more) weight.

But perhaps we'll get some of those more quickly than we think.

* * *

_**January 2**_

* * *

"I'm in love with you," would have begun the romance novel. It would have been much easier if there was a fairytale to begin with, rather than breaking up with someone only to get foolishly jealous and spiral into a destructive hole for the better part of a year.

Venice Higgs had never been one of those girls who got a perfect story first time around, though. Did anyone really?

Still, "I'm in love with you" happened, two days after 2024 did. On the bank of Stratford-Upon-Avon's section of the semi-namesake Avon river, with a bouquet of peonies and a boy she really wished she didn't care about anymore.

The phrase "I'm in love with you" escaped Dylan McCormick's lips at exactly 12:04, but Venice would remember it as 12:05, and that would be fine, because at either time he would be insisting such a fact. Were they not surrounded by Muggles, she probably would have concussed him. Instead, she asked:

'Have you been Confunded?'

Dylan shook his head. 'No, Venice. I've been thinking about this for a while.'

'Dylan, we went out for a month. Over a year ago.'

'And since that time I've made mistakes, done some fairly good things—hell, I don't know! I just… I didn't stop _thinking_ about you, Venice.'

She rolled her eyes. 'That's news to me. Well, it's not, really,' she added quickly, 'I mean with the way you've been acting in the past few months, remembering my boots last year…'

'You remember that conversation?'

'I'm trying not to let your soppiness creep me out, Dylan,' she snapped. 'Calm down and give me time to think about this.'

He looked puzzled. 'But what is there to think about? I mean, I know you've probably started fancying someone else, but I just wanted to have it out in the open that I really love you. But I can see that's a lost cause now, isn't it?'

Quite dejectedly, Dylan thrust the bouquet of peonies into Venice's hands and turned to go. He actually managed to get a few steps before being hit by the flying bouquet Venice had thrown back at him.

'What?' he said without turning around. 'Aren't my_ flowers _even good enough for—' (At this point, he turned.)

Venice collided with him as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. Dylan, caught by surprise at first, had one hand on either side of her waist, but was not expecting Venice to lean back and kiss him. Which is, of course, what she did.

"I'm in love with you" was a long time coming.

Or was it a long time _believed?_

* * *

_**January 3**_

* * *

She felt hesitant about being here. She wasn't part of the family; she wasn't even part of a _relationship_ with a part of the family, and yet Victoire had sent her an owl to say that she was wanted, if she elected to come. Cordelia had spent the better part of the day crying anyway. It was a year since her grandmother had died. She hadn't even been _home_. She was out at the Burrow. Enjoying herself. While Clancy died.

Still, her mother had encouraged her to go. 'You need to get your mind off of something,' she said. 'If Victoire and Teddy invited you, it's not out of your right to go.'

So now that she had arrived, she was standing outside in the cold. She really didn't want to go in alone, because that led to awkward introductions and greetings and she felt doubly strange because she was the weird _ex_-girlfriend, who still seemed to be a part of the Weasley family life. (Well, in this case, it was the Lupins.)

'Cordelia?'

That was Al's voice. She turned. He and Andy were coming up to the house with Louis and Melissa. It looked like some kind of over-adorable couples' retreat. Cordelia fought the urge to burrow herself into the sand and stay there.

'Hey,' she said instead, raising a hand. 'Want to go in and get the discomfort—on my part, that is—over with?'

They shrugged.

'I could do with a drink,' Andy agreed.

'Do you know anyone else who's already inside?'

Cordelia shook her head. 'I just got here; it's not like I've been standing around deliberating on whether or not to go in.' (Which, in reality, she had been.)

* * *

They were all warmly-received, for it was an anniversary dinner after all, and things like this were meant to be happy. James arrived a bit later, but he was Monique-less, not because his cousin disliked her but because she had gone back to France to see her family and would not be returning until January 7th. (Call this convenient, if you wish.)

"Dinner" was not very much of a dinner. There was food on offer, and drinks, but there was no set place to sit or dine or anything like that. You could socialize with whom you wished to socialize, and do what you pleased.

James stood beside Teddy in the door to the kitchen, though the two of them weren't really engaging in conversation. Teddy was thanking people for coming and James had his eyes, unwittingly, scoping every detail of his ex-girlfriend who was sitting at the window. She still looked the same, but her hair was longer and it curled up more at the ends and the reflection of the snow on her eyes made them look ghostly and grey, and she really _was_ beautiful.

'You didn't have to break up with her, you know.'

James's head turned to look face Teddy, for it was he who had spoken. 'Yes I did. Things would have been too hard. She'd be at Hogwarts and I'd be _here_ and—'

'That sound familiar to you?' (A loaded statement.)

'Yeah, but you and Vic were…'

'Stubborn?' Teddy supplied. 'Because you're a great deal worse than we were. In terms of stubbornness. And it's not so hard to just see each other on Hogsmeade weekends and holidays and…' Teddy sighed. 'If you were still interested in her, why did you do it?'

'Do what?'

'The whole Monique thing. You _can_ be single, James.'

'I did "the Monique thing", as you put it, because I like her. Monique is fun; she's outgoing, she's—'

'—the exact opposite of Cordelia?'

James groaned. 'That, too,' he said through gritted teeth.

'You should go over there and talk to her,' said Teddy. 'I can tell you were contemplating it.'

'There's something I should do. Something I said I would.'

'Then by all means, mate; go and do it.'

* * *

Cordelia's nails rapped on the side of her half-empty butterbeer bottle. Albus and Andy had gone off to get more food, and Louis and Melissa were talking to Dominique on the opposite side of the room. She didn't mind the isolation, though. She was actually nervous that somebody would talk to her and she would make a fool of herself, or she'd start crying—because being alone sometimes gives you _too_ much time to think—and so she kept to herself, staring out the window and hoping to be ignored.

James, as seemed characteristic for him, broke such a rule.

'Hi.'

She looked up, reverie shattered. 'Hi.'

'How're you doing?'

Cordelia considered it. 'Been better…'

'Been _worse_,' James finished for her, his voice hopeful.

She smiled and he took the seat beside her. Trying not to be selfish, she asked, 'how are _you_, then? Not suffering from your lack of a beautiful girlfriend here tonight?'

James shrugged. 'She's in France. Probably having more fun than I've been…' He looked sidelong at Cordelia then corrected, 'though right now I'm not so sure.'

She half-smiled. 'I'm pretty sure I'm no fun. Today's not exactly the best anniversary I could have hoped for.'

They both knew that she did not mean this in terms of Teddy and Victoire.

'About that—are you all right?'

'What do you think?'

James shook his head. 'Guess you need a mate, then.'

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. 'And you think you qualify, do you?'

'Hate to break it to you, love, but it's me or no one.'

Begrudgingly, Cordelia agreed with this.

'_Plus_,' James added delicately, taking advantage of the fact that her attention was on the ornate detailing of the butterbeer bottle and drinking in every facet of not the decanter but of her, knowing then that he really, honestly missed being able to do so, 'I kind of made a promise to someone.'

Cordelia's attention flickered up from the bottle in her hands, watchful gaze moving around James's face before settling on his eyes, which were looking intently back at her. She did not have to ask "who?", for he gave her an answer.

'You would never believe me.'

She half-smiled. 'You'd be surprised.'

James sighed. 'You're going to hit me.'

'I will if you don't _tell_ me!'

She reached out to dramatize the gesture, but as her arm flew towards him, James caught her wrist with his hand. Slowly, it slid into place with Cordelia's, and their fingers interlaced for the briefest of seconds—and James paused, as though he was admiring how much he had missed the feel of the gaps between her fingers and how his fit there so perfectly—before Cordelia pulled her hand away and used it and the other to place James's safely on his knee.

They couldn't look at each other.

'You know when I went to your house? Last year, before Christmas… and you and I had a walk around the garden with your grandma'—at this point, he had to check, check to see that she wasn't crying, and she wasn't, thankfully—'but for a while it was just she and I…' He exhaled. 'She asked me to promise. To promise that I'd look after you after she was gone.'

Another look told James that Cordelia's eyes had filled up with tears. Understandable. He put an arm around her shoulder and rubbed it soothingly, sighing. Times didn't change.

'Wh… what would you be doing… what would you be doing right now if Monique was here?'

'Comforting you. Keeping my promise.'

'Really?' She sounded apprehensive.

'Of course.' He sounded sure.

* * *

Towards the end of the night, Teddy called everyone to attention. They stood up and gathered, rather apprehensively, around the dining table. Victoire stood beside her husband, smiling up at him like he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen (which, in the warm yellow glow given off by their lighting, he very well could have been).

'First of all, I'd like to thank everyone for coming,' said Teddy, 'but more importantly, we have something really important to tell you all. Vic,' he asked her quickly, 'd'you want to do it or shall I?'

Victoire flicked her silky platinum blonde hair over her shoulder and said, 'I'll do it.'

Then she turned her flawless face on the group of people surrounding them and announced, beaming and slightly bashful, 'I'm three months pregnant!'

* * *

_**January 4**_

* * *

'_Ah, ah, ah_—I'm not having any more family members working in this shop—you'll steal my inheritance!'

Hugo shot Fred a glare and continued to restock the shelves of Endless Ears. The older boy continued to pace around the shop indignantly until a young woman came over and asked where to find Canary Creams. There was a tap on Hugo's shoulder.

'You should really stop stalking me, Gabbie, it's not healthy.'

Though he would not admit this, Hugo's heart raced at the sight of her. What was she doing here? He didn't even look presentable. It was meant to be an easy-going day at the Weasley joke shop. Now _Gabbie Sterling _had turned up? Out of nowhere? The universe was out to get Hugo Weasley; he was sure of it.

'Sorry, Hugo; I just can't help myself.'

He grinned. 'What are you doing here?'

'My cousin's downstairs,' said Gabbie, pointing in the general direction of her cousin on the ground floor. 'He's nine. This place is like _heaven_ for him.' Hugo looked at her expectantly. 'I didn't come here just to see you—somebody's got a messed up sense of his own importance—besides, I didn't even know you worked here until now.'

Hugo removed his orange "WWW Employee" apron and winked at Gabbie. 'Technically, I don't. Just trying to pass the time. Fancy a trip to that new ice cream shop down the road?'

Gabbie smiled. 'I'll check with my cousin. The older one. She's down there somewhere… someone's got to keep the nine-year-old on a leash. Back in a mo?'

Hugo tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the shelf. 'I'll be waiting,' he said, pausing in thought for a few seconds before following Gabbie down the stairs. 'Thought my presence might help with the cousin reasoning,' he said in a low voice, sliding into place beside her.

'Or it might subject me to a life of teasing,' she replied.

'Why's that?'

'Ice cream parlour with a boy? Just because _we_ know it's nothing doesn't mean everybody else does,' came the explanation.

(Oh, Gabbie. If only it _were_ nothing. That would certainly hurt a lot less.)

* * *

_**January 5**_

* * *

Lots of people woke up on the fifth of January not knowing that the sixth would change their lives. Excluded from this number was Fred.

* * *

_**January 6**_

* * *

Barbara Apparated into presence at the apartment above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to find the place decorated. Magically-made snow was falling inside, coming from what was possibly the ceiling, but now looked like the night sky; kind of like the Great Hall at Hogwarts. There were rose petals buried in the snow, and strawberry plants growing all over the place, with little animated people made of something metallic zipping around in what could have been some variant of a bicycle basket, a hot-air balloon or a fork lift, picking the fruits as they grew. The process was sped up, so Barbara was being given fresh strawberries by these creatures as she took off her coat (for the snow was not cold), shoes and made her way to the bedroom she now shared with Fred.

There was music playing, too, just the echoes of something familiar, a slow song… there was something important going on.

Barbara pushed open the door and found him, her boyfriend, standing there in a very handsome tuxedo, and looking very handsome in it. He smiled at her.

'Hello—' she began to say, but Fred gestured for her silence.

After this, he got down on one knee, pulled out a beautiful box of deep blue, revealed the large, ornately designed diamond ring inside it and asked her to marry him.

And Barbara, who had her hands over her mouth, removed them to nod and say, 'yes.'


	43. Rewards and Repercussions

**Disclaimer:** Copyright J.K.R. She'd probably strangle me for what I've done to her characters.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Three**

**"Rewards and Repercussions"**

**Or**

**"It's When the Fall is Coming Round".**

* * *

"If someone who was once your lover tells you that you are missed, it means the person they tried to replace you with has failed." — Anonymous.

* * *

_**January 7**_

* * *

'_Oh, please… say to me… you'll let me be your man… and please, say to me… you'll let me hold your hand…_'

Cordelia followed the mysterious string of Beatles' lyrics to the end of the platform, at which she found somebody she had not expected to. The quiet singing really should have been a red alert. However, at this time, the Head Girl was fairly tired, for it had been necessary to wake up incredibly early and make her brother do the same even though he was only in second year, and she was not making good decisions. "Good" being synonymous with "those that would not have led her to James".

'Your brother's on the other side of the platform.'

He turned, but did not seem at all surprised to have run into her. 'I know. Said our goodbyes this morning.'

'Then why are you here?' she asked. 'Shouldn't you be waiting for Monique to get back, or going to Quidditch practice or something?'

James shrugged. 'All in good time. Plus,' he said, winding an arm around Cordelia's shoulders (a pleasant surprise), 'no training on Sundays.'

Cordelia looked at him. 'Good to know.'

'I miss talking to you,' he said casually, squeezing her a little and planting a kiss on her temple.

She grinned. 'Do you know what I miss?' With a sigh: 'The Quidditch Cup. Playing against you.'

'Why?' James asked. Then he joked, 'because I snogged you after?'

Cordelia rolled her eyes. 'Because you challenged me; made me better.'

'But let's be honest,' said James confidently, 'it may have been the snogging. I mean, I'm an incredible kisser, probably even your best kiss. Like if you thought about all the people who you've kissed in your life, I'd be top of the list. _I'm your best kiss_.'

'You're my only kiss,' Cordelia reminded him.

'Oh—well, still the top of the list at any rate.'

'What about you? Was Shelley your best kiss, or does Monique take the cake?'

She looked further down the platform, scanning for people perhaps, or maybe wondering if someone was coming—the reasoning didn't particularly matter, though, because the mere fact she was not looking at James meant that his quizzically-raised eyebrows and fond gaze (directed towards Miss Gilbert, of course) was lost.

'I care about kisses that matter. _Really_ matter. When I'm incredibly, epically, show-up-at-midnight-in-the-garden-to-woo-her in love with the girl. Nothing before fifth year counts.'

'What happened in fifth year?' Cordelia asked.

'Nothing,' said James quite honestly. 'I just didn't want to say seventh.'

Both suddenly became very aware that James still had his arm slung over Cordelia's shoulders, and it was a combination of this realization and their proximity that made the two of them spring back. Cordelia blinked a few too many times and James closed his eyes momentarily, as though reprimanding himself. Before anything more uncomfortable could come from this over-casual—or possibly even _memorized_—act, the sound of approaching footsteps sounded in both pairs of ears, and a gap in the slight fog of the platform's end revealed the new presence to be none other but Professor Adrian Bell.

'Cordelia—Scorpius is going into the train to set up for the meeting, he asked me to tell you.'

'Oh,' said Cordelia, who was quite good at covering up a fluster, 'okay; thank you, Professor.'

She turned to James. 'I'll… see you around?'

James nodded, inhaling with an almost contrary grin and replying with something that could have been either "all right" or "I'll write". Cordelia supposed that only time would tell, and so she smiled at him once more before hurrying through the fog to find Scorpius. James and Professor Bell—old acquaintances from the latter's last two years at Hogwarts—exchanged a wary glance.

'Adrian Bell?' James surmised.

The Professor nodded, then the two young men spoke simultaneously.

'What's it like being back at Hogwarts—is teaching alright?'

'Are you two back together?'

James raised his eyebrows. 'What?'

Adrian sighed. 'You and Cordelia Gilbert. Are you two back together?'

'Er… no… I have a girlfriend.'

There was a brief pause.

'Please don't lead her on, then.'

Genuine shock flew over James's face. 'I… no, I wouldn't do that to her.'

'I really hope not.' Adrian sighed once more. 'I know that sounds terribly creepy, and I promise you there's nothing going on w—_between _us on _that_ front, but she is a brilliant girl, and the last thing she deserves is to be strung along like a puppet by someone who doesn't have proper intentions.'

James's mouth fell open. 'I have perfectly _fine_ intentions, thanks—actually I've got _no_ intentions. Because I don't want anything with her. I have a _girlfriend_.'

Adrian bit his lip. 'I, uh… look, if you don't feel anything for her, just tell her so. Let her move on.'

'Aren't you a bit _too_ involved in this?' James asked, raising an eyebrow. 'For a teacher… don't you think this is caring _too much_?'

'Maybe. Just remember that she's seventeen.'

'And what's _that_ got to do with anything?!'

'She's young; she doesn't know what she's doing.'

James looked skeptical. 'This coming from the same man who said she was "brilliant"?'

'You know what I mean. Don't hurt her.'

'I wasn't going to.'

Adrian breathed in deeply, then took on something of a tired expression. 'Good.' He checked his wristwatch. 'I should go. Congratulations on making the Magpies; incredible game against Puddlemere United. You'll have a great career, you really will.'

James thought this was quite a transparent change in topic, but he didn't want any more discomfort or conflict on either part, so he let it slide. 'Thanks. I… say "hi" to Al for me.'

* * *

'Your brother's outside,' Cordelia muttered to Albus as he filed into the Prefects' compartment, accompanied by Andy and followed by a small group of fifth-years.

'What?' he asked, pausing then moving aside to let the others pass. 'In the train?'

'_No_,' said Cordelia, 'on the platform. He told me he'd already said goodbye to you and Lily, so I don't really know why he was here… but he was. Out there.'

'Who?' asked Scorpius, very much inviting himself into the conversation.

'James,' Albus and Cordelia said in unison.

'_Potter_? What would he be doing _here_?'

Albus looked from Scorpius to Cordelia in a rather pointed gesture, while the Head Girl herself simply shrugged and smiled slightly. Four more Prefects scuttled past, the last of the latecomers, and so the debriefing began. It being the second term, very little had to be said. Still, Cordelia took the opportunity to hand out the copies of patrol schedules ('But it's not as though you'll be facing any kind of immediate danger,' she said; 'better to be safe than sorry, I guess.'), and Scorpius to explain that their meeting in the office tonight _was_ necessary, and that failure to attend…

'Will result in you looking like a serious prat—and let's be honest with each other, the only people you've got a chance of getting in with as a _Prefect_ are in this compartment, so don't kill those chances.'

(This resulted in various people rolling their eyes and Rose wondering—not for the first time—why she saw fit to sneak around with_ him_ of all people.)

Due to the lack of topical seriousness, the meeting was adjourned at this point. Albus and the others hurried on to a get a compartment, but Cordelia hung back to talk to a fifth-year Hufflepuff named Rebecca and a Ravenclaw named Penelope, both of whom were uncertain about certain aspects of their jobs. After the fifth-years had departed, the Head Girl continued to sort through the various papers she had in her possession. She folded them up and used a Shrinking Charm to fit the sizable array into the pocket of her jeans. Then she turned and found herself stepping into someone's shoulder.

Connor Wilson's shoulder, to be exact.

She jumped back, but there wasn't a very big area to which she could jump. Pressed up against the edge of one of the booths the compartment offered, Cordelia scowled as Wilson continued to move forward. He placed a hand on the booth wall beside the Head Girl's right hip. He was very, very close to her now.

'You know, this is sexual assault.'

'What am I doing, though?' asked Wilson. 'Is it still assault if I haven't touched you?'

'_Yes_.'

'Come _on_, Cordelia. Remember what Malfoy said? The only chance we Prefects have of getting lucky—'

'—Don't try to use my friend's stupid words against me!' Cordelia snapped.

She concentrated her energy on casting a non-verbal spell, but Wilson was expecting it. He murmured something and suddenly, he seemed shielded. Cordelia decided in that instant that there was probably something more _physically_ defensive to be done, and so she reached out and slapped him across the face. Wilson recoiled momentarily, but regained composure and, before she could do anything to stop him or even register than something was happening, reached out to grab Cordelia's wrists.

His touch was not like James's, when he had done the same thing less than a week earlier; it had nothing of the familiarity, and Wilson was clutching her so tightly that it almost hurt. She continued to struggle.

'Let me go,' she demanded.

Wilson smiled. 'In a bit.'

His blue eyes, once a rather good feature, now bore into Cordelia's and were alight with something feverish, animalistic. She opened her mouth to stop him, but the words that were uttered after that came from neither Cordelia nor Wilson.

'Cordelia, I asked Sarah where you'd be…' Kevin Corner stopped dead in the doorway to the compartment, his eyes wide and his face pale.

The Head Girl went to say something, but Kevin took three steps forward; the door shutting magically behind him. He glared at Wilson. 'Get off her,' he growled.

'Ah, _Corner_. Hello to you, too.' Wilson spoke as though Kevin had not. 'As you can see, we're a wee bit busy at the moment. Want to come back later?'

Kevin stepped forward again, standing a foot away from Wilson and Cordelia now. His hands had formed fists. Cordelia looked him up and down, incredibly apprehensive. 'Get _off_ her,' Kevin repeated.

Wilson let go of one of Cordelia's wrists so to better address his classmate. 'Look, Corner. Don't make me hex you.'

('_Wilson_,' Cordelia urged. '_Stop_.' But she was ignored.)

Taking this risk, Kevin stepped forward, towering over Wilson, who matched him, being twice as wide—compensating for height—and said, 'Let her go, Wilson.'

Cordelia, who now had two free wrists and was rubbing them in alternation, looked at Kevin beseechingly. This look went amiss, however, for the two boys were glaring at each other so furiously that neither paid her any attention.

'Apologize to Cordelia.'

The Head Girl exhaled deeply, but it was shaky and not out of relief. Wilson didn't even look at her.

'M'sorry,' he muttered.

It was at this point in time when Cordelia realized she and Kevin Corner were two very different people. Cordelia would have been fine with this terribly non-genuine response, whereas Kevin did probably the most irresponsible (and James Potter-like) thing he had ever done in his life. He punched Connor Wilson in the face.

Cordelia gasped and Kevin had blood on his fist when he drew back as Wilson rolled back onto the floor, clutching his nose. He began to stand up and went for his wand, but Cordelia had hers out and cried, '_Expelliarmus!_'; the strength of the spell sent both the boys' wands into her hands. Kevin and Connor stared at each other: the former was quite surprised at what he had done, the latter was annoyed that he had a bleeding nose.

'Screw wands,' spat Wilson, lunging forward and tackling Kevin to the floor of the compartment.

Cordelia watched, momentarily shocked, as the two of them continued to scuffle: Wilson punched Kevin across the jaw before Cordelia hurried to intervene. She pointed her wand at the boys on the ground and with one charm, Connor Wilson was pushed off to the other side of the room. He was pressed against the opposite wall of the compartment, looking extremely disgruntled and a bit worse for wear. Blood was spilled, though not only from his nose, for there were two dots on his shirt, and Cordelia wondered if they belonged to him or to Kevin. Kevin himself was also restrained by a charm, but also by the Head Girl, who had a hand on his upper arm. She raised her wide eyes to see him, only to find that he was already looking down at her. Her hand fell to her side.

'You won't get away with what you just did, Corner!' Wilson called maliciously. 'I _will_ report this! And I'll dock points!'

Cordelia rolled her eyes at him. 'You're just as much in the wrong here as Kevin is. And I've half a mind to take points from _you_, after the way you've acted. In fact, I'm actually going to speak with Professor Flitwick about having your badge revoked.' And with that, she turned on her heel, with Kevin in tow for one reason or another, and left the compartment.

* * *

Albus Potter and the other occupants of compartment F had been waiting quite a while for Cordelia to arrive. She'd said she would catch up with them, but it had been fifteen minutes and she was nowhere to be found. This changed very quickly, however, when the Head Girl stopped outside the door, chatting with Kevin Corner. Ten seconds later, he had gone to find his other friends and Cordelia had opened the door.

'Mind telling us what took you so long?' Scorpius drawled. Though, really, Cordelia had no choice. 'If you were snogging him,' the Head Boy continued, with reference to Kevin, 'we won't judge you. _Much_.'

Cordelia scowled at him. 'It wasn't like that at all. It's just—well, Connor Wilson came onto me in the Prefects' compartment after everyone had gone, and it _was_ getting a tiny bit frightening—he'd manipulated things so I couldn't reach my wand—and then Kevin showed up and Wilson let me go, and the two of them had a bit of an altercation, to be honest.' She said this as though she were displeased at the quality of the food a restaurant had served her.

Al's mouth fell open, and the other three in the compartment (Scorpius, Andy and Patricia) all cried one variant of "what in hell's name—?!"

'Managed to fend him off,' said Cordelia. 'I'm reporting him to Flitwick, to see if I can get his Prefect status nullified.'

Albus, who had been reading the _Prophet_, picked up a quill that had fallen from his girlfriend's rucksack to his left, and began to scribble a few sentences onto one of the more wordless pages. The others were too focused on the Head Girl's story—which, at their insistence, she began to tell—and therefore no one made any comments on the nature of the paragraph he had written. He exited the compartment with the excuse of getting something from Louis (which, of course, meant that he had to _actually_ go and get something from Louis to prove his lie "true") and instead went to fetch his owl. He gave it the newspaper clipping with the instructions: 'give this to James, okay? He should be at his house in London.'

Then, in order to help, he opened the window of an empty compartment and the owl flew away. Albus closed the window slowly and stepped towards the door of the compartment, but when he reemerged in the hallway he found someone blocking his way. Sennen stepped aside.

'Sorry,' she said, 'd'you want a pumpkin pasty?'

Albus, noticing that she had two in her possession, took it. 'Thanks.'

'Not being a stalker or anything, but aren't the others on the other side of the train? Andy and that lot?'

'Yeah, I just—I had to get something from Louis.'

Sennen raised her eyebrows at him, seeing through the twisted tale.

'_Fine_. I was sending something to James. But I told the rest of them Louis had something I needed, and now I have to… why are you looking at me expectantly?'

'You've got what you needed from "Louis",' Sennen explained, pointing to the pumpkin pasty in Albus's hand. 'Perhaps you just went to his compartment and stole his food.'

Albus smiled at her. 'That works.'

Sennen grinned. 'So what did you tell James?'

* * *

'Thanks for coming to meet me when I got back,' Monique said with bitter sarcasm.

She was standing in the narrow hallway of James's Grimmauld Place home, calling out to a boyfriend who didn't seem to even notice she was there; he raced about on upper floors, worrying about whether or not he had a jacket, and if he looked all right, and as Monique stepped into the kitchen at the end of the corridor, she found one possible reason as to why.

There was a small cutting from the _Daily Prophet_ dropped on the end of the kitchen table. Upon closer inspection, she realized that it was actually a note, from James's brother, Albus. James came crashing down the stairs, his footsteps heavy and incredibly fast, and he rocketed into the kitchen but came to an abrupt stop when he noticed his girlfriend standing there, in black heeled boots and a bad mood.

She narrowed her eyes. '"Connor Wilson came onto Cordelia again. Got really bad. She's acting like she's alright but I don't know. Just thought you should be aware of that.",' she read out. Her tone was slow and painful to hear; James felt as though he were walking on broken glass.

'It's not like it sounds,' he said urgently, 'I promise.'

Monique's voice increased in volume as she spoke. 'Oh, James—it looks _bad!_ Me finding this, then finding _you_, when you look as though you're about to run out the door and go and—and—I don't know—!'

'Monique, it's just—'

'—"it's just" _what_, James?! I'm back from France _two hours_, and I come over to see you dashing off after your _ex-girlfriend?!_ Because of something that happened at her _school?!_'

'I was only going to see if—'

'—You may as well just dump me now!'

'What?'

'Seeing as you're still so _obviously _in _love with her!_'

James sighed, a look of defeat sweeping across his face. 'Monique, that's… that's not true.'

'Prove it to me.'

'What?'

'Prove to me that you don't love her.'

'How can I…?' James sighed once more. (He was rather discontent.)

* * *

_**January 8**_

* * *

Professor Flitwick approached Connor Wilson at breakfast on Monday morning; he handed the boy his term timetable and then proceeded to say, 'you're going to be missing your first lesson. Instead you will meet with the Headmistress and myself, in her office.'

It was not necessary for Cordelia to be at this meeting, and Kevin was excluded from the discussion as well, for the arrival of the Hogwarts Express and the start of term feast had given the Head Girl plenty of time to go and speak with her administrators. So, alternately, she found herself in the Defence classroom with Scorpius and the others. There were six minutes until the lesson would actually begin, so there was a lot of chatting in fruition; Albus sat with Andy, whilst Bridget looked on quite bitterly, and Rose was conversing with Liz, and many of them didn't know that there was one more presence than typically warranted.

After a few minutes, Professor Bell clapped his hands together. 'There's no point in waiting.' When the class began to take their seats, he shook his head. 'No, no, no—today's lesson is going to be a _lot_ more practical. I think it's something you've been looking forward to for a while, and it needs space, because so many of you are going to be casting today's spell.'

With a flourish of his wand, all of the desks and chairs in the classroom vanished. Several people gasped at this development, including Shelley Corner, but that was primarily because she had been at the back of the room flirting with Alfie Cattermole. 'Could you all gather together?' asked Professor Bell. 'There's someone I need to introduce.'

'Bet you two galleons it's your dad,' Scorpius whispered to Albus, who shrugged.

'I'm not daft enough to engage in a bet where the outcome is obvious.'

'Right,' nodded Scorpius, proceeding to launch the bet instead with the closest male Hufflepuff.

'He was here briefly last term, talking to the sixth-years, but I doubt you noticed him around,' said Professor Bell, still continuing with his little ruse even though barely anyone in the room believed that the person hidden from their view could have been somebody _other_ than Harry Potter, 'he came and gave his talk, then had to go and return to the Auror Office, due to its _massive_ flood of work.'

'Can I come out yet?' came a voice from one of the larger cabinets. 'Because it is _really_ stuffy in here, and the Auror Office doesn't specify in dispelling asphyxiation.'

With a laugh, Professor Bell said, 'yes—Mr. Potter, _please_; by all means.'

Harry Potter being in class meant that there were Patronuses to be conjured, and so the rest of the lesson was spent doing exactly that. The first to conjure a Patronus was Albus, whose arctic fox took a few steps before curling up in a ball on the floor near Sennen's feet. She laughed and continued her attempts, while Scorpius's successful dove flew through the air watching the others from below.

'I can't tell if that's gay or bloody fabulous,' Andy decided. '_Expecto Patronum!_'

A wombat appeared in front of the Hufflepuff, then blinked a few times and promptly fell asleep. Patricia's sparrow stared at it momentarily before ascending into the rafters as flying in figure-of-eights with Scorpius's dove.

Cordelia made an attempt, and proved that she was quite a talented witch with plenty of happy memories; a red panda mulled around her ankles, nuzzling into her shin and rubbing its tail against her legs fondly. She smiled. Sennen's patronus—a fennec fox—bounded around the room, returning to meet Albus's arctic one, which extended a paw at the fennec's approach.

'We must be pretty foxy people,' the Gryffindor muttered to her, grinning. Sennen returned the gesture.

Rose's beautiful robin twirled through the air, sailing past Shelley's rabbit, bouncing ridiculously high in its casting. Professor Bell noticed the individual patronuses and at this he laughed most (though into his right hand, of course; very respectful bloke). Louis had a corgi, which barked at his male cousin's fox and obstructed its flirtations with the fennec.

'I am _incredibly_ pleased with this class!' said Harry. 'Seriously—great job, you lot! Truly impressive! Most people take a lot more time than this to get it!'

* * *

'I don't want him in my class. I don't want to teach him.'

Professor Flitwick and the Headmistress exchanged nervous glances. Flitwick frowned. 'Adrian, don't you think you're overreacting a little b—'

'If that kid thinks it's okay to try and hurt a girl that way—I don't want him anywhere near my lessons, _or_ my students, and since I don't have very much say in the latter—'

'—_Adrian_,' Pomona Sprout tried.

Adrian shook his head. 'With all due respect, Pomona... no. I am _not_ teaching someone—'

'...Adrian, _please_...'

'No. If he's going to behave that way to the Head Girl, I don't want him in my class.'

* * *

_**January 9**_

* * *

'I swear,' swore Dominique Weasley, 'if this family has any more announcements within the next few weeks, I am _actually_ going to spontaneously combust. My sister is _pregnant_, my cousin's _engaged_... makes me wonder what the _hell_ I'm doing with my life. I'm twenty-one, and what have I contributed to society?'

Victoire, witnessing her younger sister's monologue, rolled her eyes and continued to tend to the teapot on the counter in front. 'Mum said the gallery liked the work you did for the art in France.'

In the reflection, Victoire watched Dominique scoff. 'It was a _Muggle_ museum; I could make up some half-arsed story about where I found a relic from whichever and they'd still want to give me a medal.'

'You're being too modest,' said Victoire.

'Why did _I _have to be the floozy middle child?! The one who's interested in the most pointless shit. When did _this_ get chosen?' Dominique continued: 'Seriously—you married the most gorgeous bloke the wizard world has to offer—'

'—he can change his appearance at _will_,' Victoire muttered.

'—and you're doing cross-Channel correspondence for Gringott's! How bloody cool is that?! What have I done for the past two years? Curate French museums and help out in the joke shop?'

'You're also in a relationship with a player on the Appleby Arrows. _And _you're halfway through Auror training.'

Dominique sighed. 'That _is_ true. But it's not too difficult with Uncle Harry being the Head of Department.'

Victoire's finished cups of tea floated into the hands of their intended recipients. The older of the sisters took a sip. 'Nah, Dom; it's just easy because you're good.'

* * *

_**January 10**_

* * *

'So do you know who they're appointing as the new male Prefect?' Bridget Davies asked. She lounged atop the Head Girl's large four-poster, crumpling its ornately-patterned deep blue covers as a book hovered in the air above and her nails were painting themselves. This seemed to be an effective way of studying, for Astronomy at least.

Cordelia, who was in the bathroom, rinsed her mouth out and addressed her friend through the open door. 'No, not yet. I don't know if they'd tell me, honestly.'

She exhaled deeply and felt the lingering freshness of toothpaste on her tongue; and Bridget finished polishing her left hand, then said, 'I don't suppose it would be Lorcan or Lysander. They're a bit... moony, for Prefects.'

Cordelia sighed. Moony was the name of James's owl. 'I suppose so. But that only leaves Kevin and Randall Ambrose, and I don't know who they'd pick from those two.'

'Randall isn't the Prefect type; he's more interested in gloating about the fact that he's a _Ravenclaw_, and getting over-enthusiastic at Quidditch matches. He's barely doing _any_ lessons this year; curse-breaker, I think he's aiming for.'

'But Kevin,' said Cordelia, 'was involved in the thing that got Connor's Prefect status repealed.'

Bridget rolled her eyes. 'You're just not fond of the idea because he reminds you of James.'

Cordelia froze. Her eyebrows rose infinitesimally, and her progress towards leaving the dressing-table for the four-poster halted. 'You think he reminds me of James?'

'Of course he does,' said Bridget. 'They're both smart, good with spells; both play Quidditch, and are quite handsome, if I may say so. They're the same height, roughly. I think they both—'

'Bridget,' Cordelia muttered. She brushed herself off, refusing to be flustered. 'I love your theory, but that really isn't the case.'

* * *

_**January 11**_

* * *

Barbara inspected the diamond on the third finger of her left hand. It was a beautiful ring, really; incredibly decorated and ever-glittering, a gold band connecting it to her finger.

'I hope you're not spending _all_ your time gazing at your engagement ring, Miss Tennant,' said Felicia Alexander as she passed, leaving her office for some important meeting that Clarissa had had to organize. 'I pay you to do work—it'd be nice to promote someone this quarter-year, too. Fresh faces help with publicity.'

Barbara frowned, but quickly collected herself and smiled at Felicia, though the older woman had her back to her employee now. 'Yes, Miss Alexander.'

'That's what I love to hear!' she called back. 'Oh, and _Carla_?' (A very thin, pretty witch with curly brown hair; the Head of International Publication, despite being in her twenties. She seemed to have been walking to Felicia's office at the same time Miss Alexander was leaving it.) 'Could you speak with Barbara, one of my interns, about that issue with the Wizengamot's review of the continental judiciary? It must be sent to France, Portugal and Hungary by this week, or their ministries will _not_ be happy with us.'

'But weren't you meant to be present for that discussion?' Carla asked. 'You specifically said that you didn't want it done without you being there.'

'Oh, well, there's been a change of plans. I'm having to meet with the other Department Heads to talk about how things are going to be handled for next year's Triwizard Tournament. Hogwarts _is_ hosting, for the first time since 2009! It has to be perfect, Carla. _Perfect_.'

Carla, though looking a little irritated by Felicia's flippancy, said that she understood this. The redheaded woman then Disapparated, and left Carla to approach Barbara, who—having heard the previous conversation—conjured up a seat for the other woman.

'Hello,' said Carla.

'Hello,' said Barbara, soon realizing by the sizeable set of parchments in the other woman's arms that her desk would be not nearly large enough to accommodate them _and_ the work that Barbara already had to do.

She quickly produced her wand again, duplicating the desk; the other table popping into existence about a metre to her right, and Barbara transferred her paperwork there while inviting Carla to lay out the contents of their current predicament on the first, now bare, desk.

'Felicia either trusts you _very much_, or she's feeling quite lazy,' Carla noted, not unkindly.

'Probably both,' said Barbara.

'Before we start, you should probably read through these,' Carla told her, handing over a few rolls of parchment and laying the rest over the table between them. 'Wow!'

Barbara paused in her reading suddenly, looking over the top of the unrolled parchment to see what had so surprised Carla. The older girl's eyes were on her left hand.

'You're engaged?'

'Oh,' said Barbara quietly. 'Yes—yes, I am.'

'How long have you been with your fiancée?'

Barbara smiled. 'A bit over a year,' she said. 'We only got engaged about five days ago.'

_Five days, five nights._

'Merlin—you're not serious! What's his name? Does he work for the Ministry?'

Setting down the parchment she was supposed to be reading, Barbara laughed. 'No, certainly not. He... uh... he works in the family business. Do you know the Weasley joke shop—the Diagon Alley one?'

Carla's eyes widened. 'You're engaged to one of the _Weasleys_?'

'Fred,' Barbara notified her, fondness heavy.

* * *

_**January 12 & 13**_

* * *

The weekend passed with neither a Quidditch game nor a Hogsmeade weekend, for the Slytherin-Hufflepuff match was scheduled for the nineteenth, and because of this, very little was actually done. Scorpius was hard at work, and so was the Hufflepuff captain—Evan Cadwallader—and therefore, there was very little time to be spent with girlfriends and the like. Except, of course, during the evenings.

* * *

_**January 14**_

* * *

Patricia awoke to the feeling of a hand resting on her hip, fingers tracing circles along the lining of her bedclothes. She sighed and opened her eyes, leaning over, half-turning to see her boyfriend and his terribly messy post-mattress hair. Despite the fact that it was Monday, Patricia smiled.

'You look very pretty today,' Scorpius whispered.

'I just woke up.'

'Do we ever have to move?'

Patricia sighed. 'Considering the fact that it's Monday morning and I'm the Head Boy's dormitory, I think moving is a bit inevitable.'

Scorpius groaned, his eyes moving from Patricia to a corner across the room, in which a spider seemed to have taken up residence. This, an extremely odd occurrence.

'It's going to look strange if we're not down for breakfast. And we have Defence.'

'We've already learned patronuses...'

'And I've already spent the night.'

'But...'

'Come _on_.'

* * *

_**January 15**_

* * *

On Tuesday, January 15, at approximately ten o'clock in the morning, Fred Weasley asked James Potter to be his best man.

Around an hour later, after a heavy bout of swearing and a little bit of a cry, James Potter told Fred Weasley it would be an honour.

* * *

_**January 16 & 17**_

_(for it takes place at 11:59, and lasts more than one minute.)_

* * *

'_Oh-my-god-Sennen!_'

The seventh-year Hufflepuff whirled around to see Albus and Andy climbing through the door to the kitchens. She turned to her first-year cousin and told him to calm down; they were friends. His wide brown eyes flickered between Sennen and the couple in the doorway, but he followed her instructions.

'I was just getting him out of here,' Sennen said, for it was pretty obvious Albus and Andy were looking for some time alone. 'We'll be out of your hair in ten seconds.'

'That's not fair,' the first-year protested. 'I can do what I like.' He turned to Albus. 'I'm Michael Cartwright. First-year Ravenclaw. Pity me—_she's_ my cousin.'

Albus chuckled and the two female Hufflepuffs in the room snapped simultaneously, 'shut up, Michael.'

Michael rolled his eyes, returning his attention to Albus. 'I'll go. But for the sake of your relationship—though I don't know what's so great about Andy anyway; you should see how much she eats when she's down here—and unless you want me to get detention, I suggest Sennen should come, too.'

'Don't act like you run the show.'

'I'm a _first-year_, Sennen. The Prefects will show no mercy.'

Albus raised an eyebrow. 'Andy and I are the prefects on watch tonight. By all means, go ahead. No detentions given out this evening.'

'And you're leaving me with _Sennen_?!'

'_Shut up, Michael_.'

'But that's punishment enough!'

'Michael—'

'—you don't understand: she's a _troll_—'

'_Shut up, Michael!_'

* * *

_**January 18**_

* * *

'Dreadful things, Thursdays.'

'Lottie,' said Rose, 'you think every day is dreadful.'

'Because of the lack of relationships in your life,' Melissa began.

'And because you dislike being up before the sun is,' Liz finished.

Lottie sighed, rolling one of her bright red ringlets on the end of her wand, which seemed to be glowing orange itself. She focused her attention on the _Daily Prophet_ sitting on her bedside table, and soon enough it was hovering above her, turning pages as Lottie so chose.

'I don't understand why I don't just sleep in,' she mused, pausing on an editorial of the recent Quidditch statistics. 'I don't have lessons until eleven o'clock.'

Rose rolled her eyes. 'You don't _have_ to get up, you know.'

She—the taller, Prefect redhead—pulled on a shirt over her singlet and ran her fingers through newly-and-magically-dried hair. 'But I'm going to breakfast whether you come or not. Will's letters usually come on Thursdays.'

And, as usual, Miss Rose Weasley was correct. She was tucking in to a rasher of bacon when her boyfriend's ever-familiar tawny owl flew by, carrying an envelope which was then dropped onto the table in front of her.

_Rose, _Will wrote,

_There really isn't much to be said for the fortnight you've been back at Hogwarts. I mean, the most obvious thing to say is that I miss you, but that's awfully story-book isn't it? I do, though. Miss you. It's just things are so hectic here, and I don't want to put YOU off studying for your N.E.W.T.s, because they are just as important as everyone says—believe me!_

_Anyway, enough of the boring stuff. Your mum stopped by to see me today. It was a bit awkward but she's really quite nice. I like your mum. (Especially because of the whole "House Elf Freedom Act" and her work for the abolishment of pureblood rubbish. My dad's a Muggle. That's fine. Sorry. Ranting about a pointless cause.)_

_I'll write again soon. How's the House Cup going? How's my replacement on the Quidditch team?_

_Love you always,_

_Will x_

'How do I get myself one of _those_?' Liz complained, eyes flitting from Rose's letter to Melissa and Louis who were chatting enthusiastically about the latter's clumsiness.

'You stop hating society,' Rose instructed.

'But if _I_ don't argue gender politics, who will?'

Rose raised her eyebrows. 'You should still argue gender politics, no matter what the case. That's not the same as hating humanity as a whole. But like you said: gender politics. Patriarchy and women being second-class is a medieval principle of the utmost stupidity. But that _still_ doesn't mean that a woman's strength is measured by her relationship with a man.'

'Very deep,' said Albus, who slid into the seat beside Rose. 'And incredibly true.'

'These things tend to be.'

Liz looked down the table at Rose's brother. 'Hugo's still sneaking covert glances,' she commented.

'What's going on?' Albus asked, watching his cousin's head whip around in Hugo's direction. 'What does it matter who he's looking at?'

'It doesn't,' said Rose dismissively. 'I just have reason to believe he's enamoured of that Sterling girl.'

'Our love lives aren't catalyst for everything, Rose.'

Liz looked at Albus. 'This is school. Of _course_ they are.'

* * *

_**January 19**_

* * *

Cordelia shut her eyes and tried to find solace in deep exhalation and the solitude of the Heads' Office. It was Friday night and she should have been celebrating this fact; she probably would have been with the other six "regulars" in the Room of Requirement, but right now, the only thing she felt was stressed.

Stressed about school, about Quidditch, about the people who were asking her for help on essays, about what Bridget had said last week—that Kevin reminded her, Cordelia, of James—and that it was ten o'clock in the evening and she was finalizing the next fortnight's Quidditch Pitch reservation timetable. A _timetable_.

The door opened, but she didn't look up.

'It's fine, Scorpius, really—'

The clinking of heeled shoes resounded, causing the Head Girl to stop short, for it was quite obvious she had been mistaken in whose entry to the office it was.

'It's alright that I'm here, isn't it?' said Shelley. 'I assume so, because in fourth year I almost slept with Martin Harper over in that corner, when he was meant to be docking points for finding me with Ritchie Goshawk in an empty classroom on the second floor.' She grinned at Cordelia, who smiled slightly. 'He's a relative of yours, isn't he? Ritchie Goshawk?'

'Oh, yeah,' said Cordelia. 'Third cousin once removed. Not close.'

'That's good,' Shelley told her, taking a seat on the other side of the table from her housemate. 'I have a policy not to snog close friends and immediate relatives of roommates.'

Cordelia laughed. 'Okay.' She set down her quill. 'Is there any specific reason you're here, or was it just because you fancied a stroll to the Heads' Office?'

Shelley smiled, running her hands over her the non-existent crinkles in her skirt. 'I actually came to talk to you about Kevin, and also to apologize.'

'Apologize?' Cordelia repeated. 'What have you done, Shelley?'

'No—nothing _new_, it's just—you know, things with us... last year... they were stupid. I spent a lot of time trying to go after your boyfriend, even though I knew he loved you and...'

'Shelley, it's...'

'It wasn't an alright thing to do. Because I know people like me; James used to be like me, all the kissing and everything else—I know what they look like when they're faced with the real thing. You know, true love and that. I shouldn't have tried to interfere.'

Cordelia, who felt a mix of uncomfortable and grateful for Shelley's long-awaited sentiment, gave a small smile. 'Well... that's good of you.' She paused. 'Now, what's this about Kevin?'

'Before we start —you're sticking with that no-dating policy, right? The one you told us about at the start of last September?'

'Yeah. I was sick of drama. Still am. Guess relationships don't cause all of it. The stuff seems to follow me, no matter what.'

Shelley chuckled. 'What I mean to say about Kevin is that he told me what happened on the train.'

Cordelia paled. 'He did?'

'He punched Connor Wilson in the face for you,' said Shelley, 'and he said you couldn't reach your wand until that arsehole let you go. Which explains why you didn't hex the shit out of him. But I just want you to know that, if I was there, or if I _am_ there—should it happen again; heaven forbid—Wilson wouldn't have got through it to see the light of day.'

Cordelia felt herself smile. 'Er... thanks, Shelley.'

Shelley beamed. 'I guess we're friends, you and I.'

Cordelia nodded. 'I think so—_oh my lord—!_' Her eyes widened and Shelley whirled around in her seat to see a rat-sized, hairy spider crawling across the opposite wall. Both girls went as white as a sheet and bolted from the room, the lights shutting off magically and the door locking at the wave of Cordelia's wand, which she now held ready.

'What in the _world_?!' Shelley cried. 'This isn't even the first floor—how did the bloody infant Acromantula get inside?! Bloody hell!'

'I have no idea,' said Cordelia frantically, 'but I am not at all eager to find out!'

'Back to the common room?' Shelley suggested.

Cordelia nodded. 'I'll leave the spiders to Scorpius's administration.'

* * *

_**January 19 & 20**_

* * *

Very little happened that weekend. Scorpius Malfoy killed a spider and Cordelia Gilbert announced a Hogsmeade trip for the third of February. Oh, and Lily wrote to James.

* * *

_**January 21**_

* * *

'This time last year,' said Christopher Wood, 'we were learning to conjure Patronuses.'

Felix Thomas nodded. 'Everything was different.'

* * *

_**January 22**_

* * *

'Freddie!'

Fred whirled around, avoiding the stacks of Puking Pastilles on the shelf beside him. He grinned and threw his arms open. 'Victoire!'

She hurried over and hugged him, but when she pulled back her hands stayed on his arms. 'Have you already done some planning, or are we starting everything from scratch? Barbara's waiting at my place; can you get off work?'

'Of course he can,' cut in Uncle Ron, who had just finished dealing with some customers. He gave Victoire a squeeze. 'Business is slow today anyway. You should be there,' he whispered to Fred, 'otherwise the whole thing will be frilly and mental and people will be admiring the shade of bloody _aubergine _tablecloths—don't make my mistakes!'

Fred burst out laughing, then pulled off his apron and Vanished it to his bedroom. Moments later, he and Victoire materialized outside the Lupin residence; a cozy, secluded house with lots of vegetation. The flowers changed colour as Fred passed. He could see Barbara inside the kitchen window, clutching a cup of tea and throwing her head back in mirth at something Teddy—whose hair was Weasley ginger on this particular occasion—had said. Upon entry:

'What's so funny?' asked Fred.

'Your face,' said Teddy.

To augment the joke, he transformed his features so to perfectly mimic Fred. Victoire slapped her husband on the arm.

'I hate him,' she told Barbara. 'I think you're making a mistake in wanting to get married. Fred spent too much time with him growing up. They'll be the same, I bet. You're going to regret this.'

Teddy wrapped his arms around Victoire, which was easy to do now that he was back to normal height and his facial self. 'That's a lie, and you know it. In fact,' he added, 'we _all_ know it.' He pointed to Victoire's stomach. 'Otherwise you wouldn't have let _that_ happen.'

Fred and Barbara gave nervous laughs and Victoire swatted Teddy away. 'They're actually here for a reason, you know. Not to get scarred for life.'

'Oh, is that so? I was confused.'

* * *

_**January 23, 24 & 25**_

* * *

'I'm never going to get used to that,' Andy mused, brushing the end of a quill against her lips as she reread her Potions essay.

'Get used to what?' asked Albus, who was long since finished with said assignment and now more occupied reading a book.

'I could kiss you at any moment and it wouldn't be weird.'

Albus smiled from behind the pages of his book. 'Then, by all means, go ahead.'

* * *

'Can you turn that off?' asked Monique, leaning across the table to lift the stylus from the record. James fought the urge to glare at her.

'It's the Beatles,' he said. 'That song's _Yesterday_. It's _nice_.'

Monique smiled at him. 'You're right, love. It's _so_ yesterday. Yesteryear, really.' She pouted. 'I'm sorry. You like them, don't you? I'll turn it back on...'

'You don't have to,' James snapped. 'It's just noise.'

* * *

'Professor!' called Shelley.

Adrian spun around. 'Miss Corner. Hello.'

'Is it true you don't want Connor Wilson in your class after what happened on the train?'

'What do you know about that?' he asked.

Shelley smiled. 'So it's true then.'

Professor Bell opened his mouth to argue, but Shelley just flounced off to the Great Hall without looking back.


	44. I Never Liked Him

**Disclaimer**: Obvious, isn't it?

**AN**: To explain the hectic amalgamation of random activities that has become my life this year would be an impossible endeavour. I'm in the school play (showing February 13-15), and the basketball team, which has just returned from a five-day non-stop tournament in Hong Kong. Leaving me no time to write. On top of that, high school assignments are unforgiving. So please don't think I'm neglecting this story! I'm really not! I write as often as I can, but I've also been incredibly sick recently—as well as athletic—and have barely been able to get through the school-day. All right, enough complaining. (I'll leave that to you, because you're all going to hate me sooner or later.)

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Four**

"**I Never Liked Him"**

**Or**

"**Walk Lightly".**

* * *

"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference." — Elie Wiesel

* * *

_**January 26 & 27**_

* * *

_Sometimes I wonder if it's bad_, Albus had written; _if it's bad to be so in love with someone who could hurt you so easily. _

He'd then written, _I bet you're reading this and laughing. You've never had problems like this. But for now, can you just shut up—for once? Please?—and just be my brother?_

Even though he'd known very well that James rarely took things seriously. Perhaps this one time, though, he would. Through all his imperfection, James knew how to be serious if the situation so commanded. More or less. Sometimes.

It seemed like James's response to this particular letter had him trailing down the more serious road. Al thanked Merlin for that.

_Bad to be in love with someone? Rubbish. The possibility of getting hurt doesn't outweigh the probability that you won't. In fact, it should make being in love even more worth it. But then again, what do I know? According to everyone on this godforsaken earth, I have no idea what true love feels like. Just be happy, Al._ _(And once you're happy, don't let anyone screw that up for you, okay? No one.)_

Albus raised his eyebrows at this, then smirked at the _P.S._ his brother had left, and how blatantly obvious his real intentions were.

_P.S. When's the next Hogsmeade visit? I might come up and see you lot._

'What are _you_ laughing at, Mister Potter?'

He looked upwards, finding Andy leaning over him with two mugs of what seemed to be hot chocolate in hand. Scorpius and Patricia sat across the room, bantering about something or other concerning Potions and the fact that Patricia seemed to have been offered a job next June with a band called Tumbleweed. Albus knew that, without a doubt, Scorpius would try to use this as an excuse to smuggle alcohol into the school _yet again_ and have what he would call a "reasonable celebration". Albus had to almost physically stop himself from shaking his head fondly.

'A letter from my idiot brother, Miss Fawcett.'

He handed it to her, trading the note for a mug of sweet liquid, which warmed him up, much like butterbeer.

'Doesn't seem like much of an idiot to me,' Andy decided, scanning through James's reply to Albus's letter. She was smiling slightly when her boyfriend looked up at her. He realized why just as she added, 'heartbroken, perhaps. But not idiotic.'

Al moved over on the couch so that Andy could slide in beside him. 'Plus,' she continued as she did so, 'with what he seems to give in response to something of a fear in relation to being in love, or perhaps getting hurt by it... I think Scorpius is a very lucky gentleman.'

(At this point, the Head Boy—who had undoubtedly heard the entire thing—turned away from Patricia and called to the others, 'hell yes I am! Al—you, me, back here when the girls have gone, yeah?' He mimed something inappropriate and then added quickly, 'I'm the big spoon!'

'But we're the same height!' argued Al.

'I'm more domineering!'

'That's not something to be proud of!'

'I'm Head Boy for a reason!'

'Oh, shut up.'

'Make me!')

And after all this had settled down, Andy said to Al, 'if you _were_ honestly talking about me in that letter, then I want you to know that I'll never hurt you, Al. Never, okay? In fact, I'm relying on you being the one to hurt me. I'm expecting it.'

'Why does one of us have to hurt the other?' asked Al, strained.

His girlfriend smiled, then leaned over and pressed a soft, chaste kiss against his lips. Then, lingering there, she said: 'We don't.'

* * *

'I'm so happy they're gone,' Scorpius breathed, winding his arms around Patricia's waist and leaning into the curve where her neck became her shoulder. 'I've been wanting to celebrate for hours.'

'Celebrate?'

He nodded and pressed a kiss to her jaw-line.

'Don't overexert yourself,' Patricia warned in slight jest, 'you _did_ catch a Snitch six hours ago.'

'It was against Hufflepuff; I'm pretty sure I've had time to recover.'

Coy: 'Really?'

'Yes, I believe so.'

'Well, in that case...'

* * *

_**January 28**_

* * *

'I'm sorry, what?'

Kevin slid his hands into his pockets and maintained his somewhat timid disposition. He smiled at Cordelia. Admittedly, it was a very nice smile.

'There's a Hogsmeade trip this Saturday, right? And you're not going with anyone?'

Cordelia shouldered her bag. 'I suppose not,' she said, sliding her chair back into place under her desk in the Defence classroom.

'You suppose you're not going with anyone, or you suppose you're not going with me?'

Cordelia stepped out of the room, with Kevin following along. 'I don't know. I'm not really looking for anything right now,' she told him as kindly as she could, 'and—believe me—if there's anyone to _avoid_ getting involved with, it's me.'

'Though I _do_ believe you, after what happened on the train, I'm sure things aren't like that all the time.'

They rounded the corner and began up a spiral staircase to the Ravenclaw common room. Cordelia continued to feel reluctant.

'I'm no fun to be around, Kevin. I'm really not.'

He smiled again. 'That doesn't seem to bother anyone else.'

'You're irrepressible,' she said quite impatiently.

'Most would say that like it's a good thing.'

'You're not going to stop, are you?'

'Probably not.'

Cordelia sighed. She had been faced with this kind of person many a time before—one person, actually; rather than a "kind"—and from experience, she knew there was little to be done. This was why Shelley had asked about her "No Boys" oath. But Kevin was nice enough, really...

'And you're not taking "no" for an answer?'

'Well, I'd rather not,' he said, smirking slightly. 'If you _really_ don't want to spend an hour or two with me, then you're free to do what you like. I just thought it'd be... worth a shot, you know?'

'...Fine. Er... I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall, then? On Saturday? We could go down to the village together.'

'Sounds lovely.'

* * *

_**January 29**_

* * *

'Monique, turn that off. I bloody hate Norwegian Wood.'

Monique span around on the couch, turning off the music with her wand. She curled her hands around her tucked in legs. 'Why? I thought you loved the Beatles.'

James leaned against the threshold, rubbing one of his temples. 'Not Norwegian Wood.'

'Why not, love?'

'It's about one of Lennon's affairs,' James explained, approaching the couch and collapsing onto it, with his head in her lap. His eyes closed, exhausted. 'I don't want to listen to him being unfaithful to Cyn.'

'Cyn?'

'Cynthia. First wife.'

Monique began to trace her fingers through James's hair, drawing it out of its disheveled condition and into something she could have measured with a ruler. 'I think I'm a bit more familiar with Yoko Ono.'

James sighed, not opening his eyes.

* * *

_**January 30 & 31**_

* * *

Barbara giggled, bouncing around on her large, messy bed. She was beautiful, all soft lines and smiles, and her hair was curled today and it made Fred wonder if she'd been bored at work after her timetable changed and he wished he saw her more often than he did, what with Felicia Alexander calling her in all the time. But now she was here and it was practically midnight and everything that had been in her bag was sprawled over the floor including some important parchment and a letter from Cordelia and he was laughing and so was she because of something or other that had been said.

'I love you,' she said casually, giggles tinkling through the peal of conversation. Fred smiled because of how calmly those three words slid from her lips.

* * *

_**February 1 & 2**_

* * *

Menial. In other news, no rain.

* * *

_**February 3**_

* * *

(_10:37am_.)

'Hi,' said Kevin, lifting a hand from his pocket to greet his date with a wave. He blushed slightly. 'You... er... you look _really_ pretty.'

'Oh,' Cordelia smiled, though she didn't very much feel it. She tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear and, like Kevin, pocketed her hands. 'Thank you.'

Kevin gestured to the open doors of the Entrance Hall. 'Shall we?'

'Yeah,' said the Head Girl, as brightly as she could.

* * *

(_10:39am_.)

'I still don't understand why you've got to go all that way, love. Just to see your brother and sister.'

'Because, _love_, that's where they are. At Hogwarts. I'd go however far I had to if it meant annoying my siblings. Just something you should know.' James winked.

Monique folded her arms. 'You're just going to see Albus and Lily, yes?'

'I wouldn't need to see anyone else. Well, minus Rose and Roxanne and Louis and Lucy.' James considered it. 'Perhaps I'll find Scorpius Malfoy and take the piss of everything he does for a while... but I promise, I'll be back tonight.'

'You'd better be.'

* * *

(_10:54am._)

'Ready to go?'

'No,' Andy deadpanned. 'I'd rather stand in the bloody Entrance Hall until this afternoon.'

'I hate you,' said Albus. But he didn't.

* * *

(_11:01am._)

'Felicia's called you in _again_? But it's Saturday!'

Barbara shrugged. 'Carla will be there. She's a right laugh, I swear. And she's dating this Muggle bloke—Adam Something.' She looked at Fred, who was pleading with her, the knees of his pajama bottoms rubbing against the cold floor of the kitchen. 'Come on. Just spend the day with James. You said you wanted to hang out with him.'

Fred slacked. 'I... I can't. He's kind of...'

'Fred Weasley, _why do you look like the guiltiest person on the planet?_'

'He's... he's kind of... James may have gone to Hogsmeade.'

Barbara's handbag dropped. 'He _what?_' She furrowed her eyebrows. 'Did you tell him about the letter—?'

'I didn't think it'd make him up and _go!_ He's over her, Barbs—he's got Monique and _everything_. He just wants to see Al and Lily; why would he care if Cordelia's got a date with some Kevin Corner bloke?!'

Barbara hit him. 'Have you ever _seen_ Monique and James together?! That's the _least_ loving relationship in the bloody history of this damned world! And you told him his _ex-girlfriend_—the only girl he's probably ever got close to loving—is on a date with _someone else_? _Shit_, Fred; and I thought you were sort of bright!'

* * *

(_11:15am_.)

'Bye, James!' Al called.

His brother waved. Andy turned to her boyfriend, ignoring the looks a couple of third-years were giving them from inside Scrivenshaft's. 'Don't you think it's a bit odd,' she began, 'that the first thing your brother says after "how are things?" is "haven't seen Cordelia, have you?"?'

* * *

(_11:29am._)

The Three Broomsticks was bustling; students passed in and out more frequently there than anywhere else, Honeyduke's included. Cordelia stood a couple of shops down, admiring a set of books in the window of Baggindwarf's.

The bookstore hadn't been there long; it was sandwiched between Madam Puddifoot's and some kind of apothecary that Cordelia herself had never been inside, and while Kevin had stood beside her quite nicely and had stood his ground, not trying to hold her hand or do anything that would have been out of her comfort zone, Cordelia could tell that there was something else on his mind.

'I'm sorry,' she said, 'I'm just making you stand here. It's cold and it's boring, and you probably want to go inside.'

'No, no—it's fine. Really.' Kevin smiled. 'Oh,' he added quickly, noticing someone down the street, 'there's Misty Mumps. Sorry, can I just ask her something about our Muggle Studies assignment? It'll be really quick.'

'Of course,' said Cordelia, beaming at him. 'Go ahead. I'll be here, or a bit up the road. Might see if they've got the White Album.'

'White Album?'

'It's a Beatles thing. They're a Muggle band from the sixties.'

'Oh. Have fun. I'll just be five minutes.'

* * *

(_11:30am._)

Sennen Cartwright made her way to a booth in The Three Broomsticks, only to find it occupied by Louis and Melissa, who were laughing quite loudly and looking as though they would be better if uninterrupted. The next few tables were the same; it was only when she passed by Shelley Corner, who was waving away a sixth-year, that she stopped.

'Sennen Cartwright?'

She nodded at Shelley.

'Can't find a seat, can you?'

'Not as such, no.'

'You're welcome to sit with me.'

'We haven't spoken since first year.'

'Always a chance to get acquainted. Come on.'

* * *

(_11:31am_.)

'Oh. Have fun. I'll just be five minutes.'

There was a wave exchanged, and then Kevin Corner departed down the street; his hands tucked in his pockets and that stupid little beanie on his head, which made him look ten times better than he did in James's memory. (This did not impress the former Head Boy. James had never liked Kevin.)

Cordelia cast the books one last glance before turning and beginning her trek to the shop across the street and up a bit, which sold a combination of magic and Muggle music. She was wearing a necklace, meaning that she'd at least _tried_ to look nice for what had turned out to be a date with Kevin Corner. Of course, this would probably have meant more to the Ravenclaw boy than it did to James, for the latter certainly recognized the necklace.

The little pendant had belonged to Cordelia for just over a year now, and it had been one of two Christmas gifts she had received from her then-boyfriend over the winter holidays of her sixth year. If it were anyone else, James could have let the situation count as a lapse of memory, but this was Cordelia. She didn't forget things.

It was funny: she reached the window of the shop without even noticing him. They ended up standing beside one-another, practically, but it was not until James said, 'don't you have a stubborn, over-protective boyfriend to buy that for you?' that she turned and noticed that it was he she stood beside.

'James!' Cordelia cried, throwing her arms around him. 'What are you doing here?'

'Come up to see Al,' he said easily. White lies usually _are_ the easiest to tell. 'Figured he was getting lonely without my abuse.'

Cordelia nodded. 'Poor guy. I think he's gone into withdrawal.'

'How _are_ things with him and Fawcett?'

'They're good. Very much in love.'

'So he says.' James looked fleetingly at the shop window, just to have somewhere else to be staring. 'So, are _you_ very much in love with one Kevin Corner? Are my sources correct?'

'Are your sources Barbara?'

He nodded.

She was no longer smiling. 'What do you know about that?'

James considered it. 'I know,' he said slowly, 'that this is the first date. That you didn't seem overly eager.' He paused momentarily, keeping her in suspense. 'You talked about me in the letter.' He grinned. 'Are you _really_ that hesitant to go out with this bloke? He looked all right.'

'Kevin's nice,' Cordelia defended, cringing slightly at what he had said. 'I would have felt bad rejecting him.'

'So he's nice, but you don't like him all that much then?'

'How are you and Monique?' Cordelia said, a bit snappish.

'...I'd say "happy", but...'

'...But?'

'I kept something from you once and that was shit.'

'That was _Monique_.'

'We're average.'

'Oh.'

James sighed. 'I really miss you.'

Cordelia sighed. 'You shouldn't say things like that.'

'But it's true,' James argued back; and the eloquence and impulse of what followed left even him surprised; 'and I'm not in the business of denying myself the right to say that any more. I miss you, and I miss us, and I miss what we had, and sure, I've got Monique, but she's never—not once—made me feel the way you did. _Do_. And I know I've made a right mess of things and you deserve so much more than what I have left to give and I know I've got a whole lot of problems that I need to fix and my life is—significantly messed up, and sometimes sort of stable, and I _really_ don't want to burden you further but I honestly and truly and genuinely believe that... I did something wrong. And I miss you. And I... probably... still love you, and... oh God, Cordelia, I'm so sorry.'

She was silent.

'Cordelia, please say something.'

Still, she remained silent.

'Please.'

They walked to the end of the road, to a more private venue, with Cordelia leading and James following because he needed answers and because he couldn't have done much else.

'Why did you have to say that?' she demanded.

James took a step away from her. 'What?'

Cordelia shook her head.

'Look,' said James quite frankly, 'I... what's wrong? What's so bad about me saying that? Why should I have kept my mouth shut? _Why?!_'

She closed her eyes, but opened them once more to look around as she spoke. 'Because it was starting to get easier! It was going back to normal.'

'What?'

'Do you not _know_ how hard it has been? For me, to be here, and to be not be caring about what you and your unfairly _beautiful_ French girlfriend are doing back in London? I was starting to get better!' Cordelia exhaled, allowing James to step back closer to her, his gaze intent upon her face.

'I could have forgiven you,' she continued, 'for August; for not telling me about Monique. But then I had to _see you_, at _Christmas_, and be reminded of the whole thing again; and how strongly I felt about everything...'

James wanted so badly to wrap his arms around her and make sure it was all fine, that all this went away, but he did not.

'...and... and then I came back here, and I was just starting to adjust... and then Kevin asked me out... and Kevin's _nice_, and he means well, and he punched Connor Wilson in the face for me, and he's careful and—'

'—and yeah, he's all those things, Cordelia, but he's nothing compared to me.'

She was quiet. 'Maybe that's why I said yes.'

James blinked. He reached out, unsure if it was okay to do so; but they were far from everyone else, and certainly out of eyeshot, and this meant they were truly alone, so he gathered that it would be fine. Cordelia's hands felt familiar in his. It was almost eerie to be holding them again. It had been so long.

She was barely a foot away now, and James wanted so badly to kiss her.

'Why are you doing this?' she asked. 'Why now?'

'If I don't have you, someone will,' said James, moving closer to lower his voice and murmur this only to her.

Cordelia's next words came as quietly as his had.

'Don't let yourself think your selfishness changes anything.'

James's mouth fell open. 'My... _"selfishness"_?'

Cordelia nodded. 'That's what this is. Selfish. You're only here because you think that I'm not yours anymore. _That's _what scares you.'

'No!' James protested. 'That's—I'm not just saying that because I'm...' He sighed. 'Cordelia, I'm not doing this because I don't want you to be happy with someone else. If you love something, you'll let it go, right?' He closed his eyes, but knew that what was to come had to be said, or nothing would eventuate: none of this would be worth it. 'I'm not afraid of you being happy with some other guy. I'm afraid that—maybe—you could be happier with me. Or that I don't think _I_ could be happy with another girl.'

And, just like that, not quite sure what fueled it, James reached out and kissed her.

* * *

(_11:43am_.)

'Barbara, you can't bloody _Apparate _to Hogsmeade, just to stop James from doing something stupid! You said it yourself—you've got work!'

'Then _you_ do it! He's _your_ cousin!'

'Knowing James, we're probably too late.'

* * *

(_11:46am_.)

'I can't,' Cordelia said quietly, pulling away.

'But—'

'—I'm here with Kevin. I don't want to hurt him.'

'Why not?'

'I know how it feels.'

'But I _love you_,' said James, quite desperate.

Cordelia sighed. 'Tell me that when you're single and I'm not on a date in Hogsmeade, because otherwise, I'm probably going to have trouble believing you.'

'I_ do_ love you.'

'You love the idea of me.'

'But I...'

'James. Please. I have to go.'

* * *

(_11:47am_.)

Cordelia pulled away, but James reached out and caught her hand.

'James, I'm afraid you'll regret this.'

'No,' said James, 'you're afraid of what you want.'

'Stop trying to quote romance novels. None of that is going to work.'

'I mean it, though.'

'If you mean it, you won't ruin my weekend. I need to _go_.'

And then she did.

Kevin was waiting outside the shop where James and Cordelia had stood first, craning his neck to look inside. Cordelia hurried away from James and over to Kevin, who smiled very brightly upon seeing her.

'Sorry!' he heard her say. 'I got a bit caught up. Someone wanted to talk. Did you find out what you needed from Misty Mumps?'

'Yeah. Want to go to Honeyduke's?'

Cordelia laced her hand in Kevin's, crushing James's heart significantly and completely, then practically forced him to watch her walk down the street with somebody who was undoubtedly more safe to be with.

* * *

_**February 4**_

* * *

Scorpius inhaled; the air of the night was nippy, pinched with frost. Patricia stood beside him, voicing aloud her inquisitiveness as to why they had met in this place of all possibilities, and why it was night, and why they were doing this at all. Her boyfriend sighed, and then addressed the three main questions in order.

'We've met here, at the top of the Astronomy Tower, because it's got a beautiful view and it's somewhat cliché, and it's nice enough, really, if you ignore the fact that my dad almost killed his Headmaster right about where you're standing. It's night because the sun is focused on the other side of the planet, and because I wanted to be alone. We're doing this because I've got something important to tell you, or rather, to ask.'

Patricia raised an eyebrow. 'You're not proposing, are you? I'm not quite sure if I'm ready for that.'

'I said "twenty-five", love,' he reminded her. 'You may have to wait a year or so. But no—it's not that. My aunt Daphne helped me find this apartment in London. It's at the top floor of a semi-Muggle building, but it's not too high; in one of the more wizard-populated boroughs. The architecture's kind of gothic, so it matches the Wiltshire estate. It's practically perfect for me; for _us_, if you'd like to become a permanent fixture—which I'd prefer, but you don't have to comply with if you don't want to.'

'Are you asking me to move in with you?'

Scorpius shuffled his feet, which was slightly out of character. 'Only if you'd like to. If you don't think you're too important for me, what with your managing Tumbleweed and working three jobs and all your walking lightly and things.'

He sighed. 'Look, you don't have to. I've got a lot of problems, which you're happy to help me in dealing with... for now; but I don't want to burden you with anything lifelong. If you come and live with me, it's not as though you'd be stuck there. You could leave any time you liked; if you find someone better. But I was just offering... in case you wanted to. Because I don't want to have to change arrangements and visit frequency just because of us finishing school.'

'I assume "visit frequency" equates to "time spent in your dormitory",' Patricia inferred. She smiled. 'I'd love to be with you in this vague London apartment. It would be wonderful. And I thought we'd clarified this! You _never_ have to worry about me leaving you; _never_. I'm in love with you. I always will be.'

To explain further, she tiptoed up and placed a kiss on his lips.

'How long do you mean when you say "always"?'

Patricia smiled, wrapping her arms around him. 'I mean years; I mean marriage, I mean children. I mean eyesight that has to be magically enhanced and joints that require potions to stop creaking. I mean _always_ when that's what I say.'

'I love you.'

'I know.'

* * *

_**February 5, 6, & 7**_

* * *

Possibly the most boring three days anyone faced that year. A total of four spiders found their way onto the grounds, each one larger than the last. Louis was asked to kill one by his girlfriend, but he went white and did not respond. Alana Harris was trying to flirt with Professor Bell, which ended with Lily "accidentally" casting a Sneezing Hex and Alana being sent to the infirmary. Gabbie Sterling had a conversation with Hugo Weasley on the topic of Quidditch, and he mustered up the courage to tell her that he liked the way she had done her hair, which made her smile a little brighter and he almost realized he loved her but he thought that was impossible at his age.

* * *

_**February 8**_

* * *

If you remember this time last year, there were lots of goals set.

Whether or not these prophecies were fulfilled is up to your judgment.

* * *

_**February 9**_

* * *

'Professor,' said Shelley, beginning one of her blatantly-obvious bouts of playful flirting with Adrian Bell, 'what do you think of relationships in, say, seventh-year?'

Professor Bell, who knew exactly what was going on, chuckled. 'You're going to have to learn a little something called "tact", Miss Corner. I think you'll find it's taught in most schools.'

'Not this one, though,' Shelley replied. 'You know I'm just _playing_, sir. It's frightfully boring without the Weasleys from last year here. Right, Cordelia? Don't _you_ miss them?'

Cordelia, a couple of rows away, did not smile. 'It's not like they're dead,' she said after a moment of hesitance. 'You can see them any time you want to.'

'Including Hogsmeade,' Andy put in, half-smiling, 'right?'

'I wouldn't know,' Cordelia told her. 'Probably.'

'Yeah, I saw James this weekend,' said Al. 'He came up to check if Dom was working at the shop; could've nicked something for a discount.'

Shelley, whose eyes had been trailing Professor Bell throughout this side conversation, smirked. 'I think that's a dreadfully long trip, just for a couple of supplies. Where do they even _do_ tricks anymore, when there's no Peeves or Filch to annoy?'

'Don't know, don't need to,' said Professor Bell, regaining authority in the laid-back class setting. 'It's just about time for you lot to go. Remember: next lesson, essays on my desk.'

Shelley looked triumphant; her eyes narrowed, lips sensual—somehow pouted and curled at the edges simultaneously—and then she stood, along with the majority of her classmates. 'Bell's buttons are just _too_ easy to push,' she said under her breath, to no one in particular. 'Poor bloke; I almost feel bad. _Somebody's_ onto him.'

* * *

_**February 10**_

* * *

'James?' Monique called, wading through the hallways of her boyfriend's Grimmauld Place home. 'James, can we talk?'

'I don't know,' came a dejected response from the living room. 'Can we?'

James lay on the couch, his hair messier than usual and his eyes shut. Monique sat down on one of the chairs opposite. She was not as casual as she usually was, if that would could ever have been applied to Monique la Roux. Now, she was perched on the edge of the seat, as if it would ensnare her at any moment.

'James, there's something I _must_ say; and you cannot stop me.'

'Wow,' he said monotonously, eyes still closed. 'That must be really hard-hitting.'

Monique scowled. 'I'm just going to come out and say it.'

'Then do that.'

She rolled her eyes. 'I don't want to be with you any more, James Potter. We don't have the same interests and you're very immature and I am twenty-one and there are things I _need_ that you have failed to give to me. You had almost seven months, and _nothing. _I cannot apologize. I have a date with one of the Wasps tonight. He's much more accommodating.' She stood, quite shocked at his lack of reaction. '_Goodbye_, James.'

'You can let yourself out,' he muttered into the lining of the couch just as his ex-girlfriend Disapparated, thus doing exactly that.

* * *

_**February 11**_

* * *

'Promise not to let me _ever_ get annoying and melodramatic,' Andy asked of Sennen that night in the Hufflepuff dormitory.

'Promise not to let _me_ ever settle for someone less than Paul McCartney standards of brilliance,' Sennen dished back.

* * *

_**February 12**_

* * *

'I can't believe you got dumped four days before Valentine's Day!'

'Shut up, Felix!' James said with a glare. 'Just because all of _you_ are in long-standing, loving relationships!'

'Not Quentin,' put in Wood, who was currently raiding Fred's cupboards.

'Quentin doesn't count,' muttered Fred himself, swatting Chris's hand away from one of Barbara's more preferred muffins.

Opting for a pumpkin pasty instead, Chris asked, 'has anyone actually _heard_ from Quentin lately? Or is he back in Spain?'

'Back in Spain,' Felix said. 'Haven't written to him since last September.'

'I could do with a trip to Spain,' Fred admitted.

'Take James with you,' Chris advised. 'He's in dire need of some cheering up.'

(And, though true this was, it was not because of the girl that Felix and Chris were thinking.)

* * *

_**February 13**_

* * *

Menial. In other news, it _did_ rain.

* * *

_**February 14**_

* * *

Roses cropped up everywhere, sticking out of every nook and cranny of the school. They were conjured to be taken out and given to significant others, which made for quite a festive Valentine's Day. The Great Hall was decorated with pink and purple streamers, but—unlike last year—the staff table was not littered with cards for the holiday. One zoomed over to Adrian Bell, sent by someone from the Ravenclaw table, but upon receiving it, he simply shook his head, looked over and said, 'I'm not opening this, Shelley,' with a slight smile on his face.

Scorpius gave Patricia at least sixteen bouquets, and this led to a promise that each rose was worth one kiss; Albus and Andy were handing them to each other wherever they went, almost having a competition of who could give the other more in a shorter amount of time. Hugo was walking down the Charms corridor with Gabbie Sterling and plucked one from a statue, then gave it to her jokingly. Kevin Corner asked handed one directly to Cordelia at the beginning of Transfiguration, saying, 'I'm not sure if I constitute as a Valentine, but nevertheless...'; Sennen, all the while, continued to listen to her newly-purchased edition of the White Album.

(It _had_ been at the Hogsmeade shop. Cordelia had just been a bit distracted.)

Meanwhile, in London, Fred took Barbara out for a lovely dinner and a stroll that spanned hours. It could not have been more perfect; the only element that could have upped the ante, so to speak, would have been a proposal, but they had already been through one of those and another was redundant.

* * *

_**February 15**_

* * *

Albus Potter was very truly happy.

(The kind of happiness that comes in bursts and lasts and then supernovas.)

Andy Fawcett was very truly pleased.

(The kind of pleased that relates to where one was in their life one year ago.)

* * *

_**February 16 & 17**_

* * *

Again, menial. Drizzle, with no hurricanes.

* * *

_**February 18**_

* * *

'So...' said Albus that night in the Room of Requirement.

Andy bit her lip, stood, and asked, 'want to go and bake a cake?'

Al considered it. 'Er—yeah, sure. Why not?'


	45. Clinging to What Was

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of this.

**AN:** There were some update problems with the last chapter! I posted the update on February 9, but the site wasn't making it accessible to readers. I hope the same doesn't happen for this one! In the future, you can go to thethirdpottergeneration on tumblr, and find the page there that says "Update". It has all public information regarding the next chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Five**

"**Clinging to What Was"**

**Or**

"**Six Kisses".**

* * *

"The rightest of love can be found in the oddest of places." — Anonymous

* * *

_**February 19**_

* * *

'Molly Weasley.'

She turned at the sound of her name, but did not expect to see the person who was uttering it. Her posture slackened and she let the parchment previously clung to her chest flop, as her hand did, to her side.

'Hello,' she said, not very kindly. 'I'm in quite a rush right now, so did you have something of substance to say or were you just trying to tell me my name?'

'Are you seeing anyone?'

'No,' she said, checking her watch and beginning to tap her foot against the marble floor of the atrium. 'Was that all?'

'No. I was wondering if you'd like to, perhaps, go and grab lunch later.'

'Not especially,' Molly told him. 'I've got much more important things to do.'

'Please?'

'This is the fifth time in the past six months. I haven't told anyone about this, but if it persists, I may have to. When are you going to get it into your head that _I don't want to be with you_? Not now, not ever; never again. I'm much happier this way.'

'But what we had was nice.'

'No,' Molly told him. 'No, it wasn't. Looking back, in hindsight, I was probably more miserable than I should have been. Now, I really _must_ go; Miss Abernathy wanted this document delivered personally.'

'What will it take for you to realize that we're meant to be together? That me breaking up with you was a mistake?'

'Then it was your mistake, Archie,' Molly said quite contemptuously, taking a couple of steps away from her former boyfriend. 'But it was an enlightening one. I want you to stop approaching me; my answer isn't going to change. I don't need you in my life, nor do I _want_ you here. I'm sorry if that's harsh, but I'm honestly not. Please, move on. All it's doing is ruining you.'

* * *

_**February 20**_

* * *

'Happy Birthday, Louis!'

Melissa threw her arms around her boyfriend, and he laughed. 'How does it feel to be dating an eighteen-year-old?'

'Pretty much the same as dating a seventeen-year-old, to be honest.'

'_Damn._'

* * *

_**February 21**_

* * *

'Oh, Merlin,' said Cordelia in a sing-song voice, eyes wide at the information Albus had just relayed to her. The others in the room—Scorpius, Patricia, and Andy—all looked at the Head Girl with rather surprised expressions on their faces. She pulled at the sleeves of her jumper. 'You're kidding.'

'Nope,' said Al. 'Though I _will_ have to do a bit of improvising in my letter to James. He's probably expecting you to be a lot more excited.'

Cordelia shook her head. 'What I think doesn't really matter much anymore,' she brushed off. 'In case the entire _world_ has forgotten, James and I broke up almost eight months ago!'

Andy bit her lip. 'Are you two friends then? Just friends?'

'I don't know,' said Cordelia very quickly. 'I frankly don't care. Because he's got his life, I've got mine, and while his no longer involves excessive snogging of exotic French women, I still have Kevin Corner to worry about.'

'_I'm not sure_,' Patricia admitted. She smoothed an invisible goatee. '"Cordelia Potter" sounds much better than "Cordelia Corner". Far too much alliteration.'

Cordelia rolled her eyes. 'It's not as though I'm marrying the bloke. I'm not even sure what's happening. We went out once and he gave me a rose on Valentine's Day, but—'

'—have you snogged?' asked Scorpius.

'No,' Cordelia replied immediately.

'But he wants to,' Albus inferred.

'Of course he does,' Patricia said.

'He's a teenage boy,' Andy added.

'But you mustn't fancy him all that much,' realized Scorpius.

'Because you'd be ecstatic if you did,' Patricia judged.

'You'd definitely be more excited,' Andy supported.

'You just seem a bit queasy about the whole thing,' said Albus.

Cordelia sighed. 'Has it never occurred to any of you that, maybe, I don't want a boyfriend—neither Kevin nor James?'

'Not _really_.'

'Well, that's the case. I almost understand why I avoided relationships for sixteen years... apart from nobody fancying me. Non-platonic boys just cause trouble.'

* * *

_**February 22**_

* * *

'Professor, there's—there's another—just like last year!'

Professor Dryden raised his hands to drown out Lottie Flanagan's overanxious stream of exclamation. 'Another what, Lottie?'

'Another Acromantula!' She shuddered. 'It's down by the Black Lake! Some third-years said they thought there was something moving in the trees, but nobody's wanted to go in and check since they've seen what was onshore!'

Professor Dryden paled. 'An _Acromantula_? Dead, I'm assuming.'

'Not quite,' admitted Lottie, beginning to pull him through the Entrance Hall. 'It's been immobilized by Professor Bell but he didn't kill it!'

The pace quickened, and soon enough, Professor Dryden and Lottie Flanagan arrived at the scene. A small crowd of students was bustling, with Professor Bell in the centre, keeping everybody else as far away as they would go. He was constantly administering hexes and immobilization spells, and when Professor Dryden approached, the Arithmancy professor did the same.

'All of you should get to your lessons,' he said. 'It's ten o'clock—your Professors will be waiting.'

'But we have Defence, sir,' said a couple of second-years with a hopeless glance at Professor Bell.

'Just go to the room,' Professor Bell told them, 'I'll be there eventually.'

The students filed out, leaving the two teachers with the paralyzed Acromantula. With one wave of his wand, Professor Dryden sent it to the farthest corner of the Forbidden Forest.

'What was _that_ doing here?' he complained. 'They're everywhere.'

'It's starting to worry me,' Adrian admitted. 'I don't remember the Acromantula colony being completely contained after the second war. Apparently, they got most of them, but there were a few left.'

'Should we go to Sprout?'

'I'm sure she already knows.'

* * *

_**February 23, 24 & 25**_

* * *

Friday, Saturday and Sunday passed in a blur. No Quidditch, no Hogsmeade.

* * *

_**February 26**_

* * *

Kevin caught up to Cordelia after Quidditch practice on Monday night. His hair was sticking out in all directions, and it had got a bit longer, and both of these were very attractive qualities when Kevin Corner was the one being reviewed.

'You heard, right?'

Cordelia's eyebrows furrowed. 'About what?'

'I got Connor Wilson's job—I'm the new Ravenclaw Prefect.'

'Oh!' said Cordelia. 'That's funny. The Head Girl usually _would_ hear about that sort of thing; I suppose the filing got given to Scorpius.'

'Yeah.'

They walked on a bit, watching the silhouettes of their teammates disappear into the castle. Then Kevin asked, 'what are we?'

Cordelia, taken slightly aback at this, hesitated. 'I don't know. What do you think we are?'

'Not as much as I'd like us to be,' Kevin admitted, slipping his hands into his pockets. Cordelia bit her lip, but this gesture was not witnessed by her companion, whose eyes were on the path in front of him. 'We went to Hogsmeade together. I gave you a rose. But the rose doesn't mean much, I suppose. It's just a little thing that everyone else was doing.'

'I'm not really...'

'I know. You're not looking for anything. And I'm sorry for being so pushy; you must think I'm obsessive.'

'No! You're not pushy—you're the least pushy of anyone I've ever encountered. Really. I just... the last year's been really _confusing_ for me, and I...'

'I know. James Potter and all that. He was in Hogsmeade that weekend we went, wasn't he?'

Cordelia nodded slowly, carefully avoiding Kevin's eyes. 'Yeah, he was.'

'Shelley told me that he and his girlfriend broke up,' he said, with a cursory glance over the Head Girl's face. 'Does that incite anything between you and him?'

She shook her head. 'We broke up almost a year ago. Nobody seems to remember that that relationship ended.'

'I do.'

'And what did you make of that?'

'...I was pleased.'

Cordelia smiled. 'You were? How long have you fancied me? If you do, that is.'

Kevin blushed. 'I—uh... ab-about two years.'

Cordelia stopped. Seeing him in a new light, for whatever reason; she asked, 'Why didn't you say anything?'

'I didn't really think it was my place. Blokes who fancy you can cause a lot of trouble. I thought you had enough of that without adding me into it. I would've gladly taken part, though; had you asked me to.'

'What about now?' she asked, a new tone present in her voice that sounded casual enough but with something else added; a tone of voice that he had never heard, but quite liked. 'Do I still have too much trouble in my life?'

'Have you been frisked at any time in the last month, either by a boy or by a girl? Have you unbuttoned a teacher's shirt? Have you jumped from the Astronomy tower? Have you spent the night not-sleeping in a dormitory that wasn't yours? Or even a dormitory that _was_ yours, for that matter?'

Cordelia laughed. 'No, none of the above.'

'Well...'

'Are you _volunteering_?'

Kevin chuckled. 'Of course not. Though,' he added, 'I wouldn't _protest_...'

This made Cordelia smile. Then she leaned forward, taking Kevin by the front of his shirt and pressing a kiss to his lips. It was chaste, brief; short enough that the boy being kissed had no time to recover nor to respond. Though bewildered, Kevin was smiling. Indeed, he looked very much like someone who had just won a rather important prize.

'What'd you do that for?'

'Would _you_ have?' asked Cordelia quietly.

'Maybe,' said Kevin.

'All right,' Cordelia said finally. 'Your job next time.'

She turned on her heel and made to leave, but Kevin reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back until they were face to face, with his arm halfway around her waist, and he began to kiss her again.

Cordelia's hands cupped his face and the couple—if they could be called that, with the slew of complications that comprised their relationship—lingered there for a while; he was euphoric, because he had loved her for so long and now she was finally reciprocating in more than a quick glance and a hushed conversation that ended with her running off to another boyfriend, and she was less confused and more pleased, right now, that at least one thing in her life hadn't fallen apart completely.

They broke apart, and Kevin sighed.

'Merlin,' he said. 'This had better count as a second date.'

Cordelia smiled. 'Have we settled it then?'

'Settled what?'

'What we are.'

Kevin thought about it. 'I believe I'm your boyfriend.'

'Yeah. I think so.'

* * *

_**February 27**_

* * *

Barbara collapsed onto the bed, thoroughly exhausted.

'Are you all right?' asked her fiancée, shrugging into a jacket on the other side of their bedroom. 'I swear, they work you too hard at the Ministry. By the time you come home, you're always tired; you've never got any time to spend with little old _me_ here, despite the fact that we're living together and cohabitating.'

'I know,' she said, sighing. 'It's terrible. I'm really sorry. I might be able to talk to Felicia about giving some of my work to Clarissa; she hasn't had much to do recently.'

Fred looked her over. 'It's barely seven o'clock,' he said. 'Are you about to pass out?'

'Why? What would you have suggested?'

'Well... if you're giving me the _option_...'

He sat down on the bed, scooting over until Barbara's shoulder was touching his. She giggled. 'I'm still incredibly tired, you know.'

'It's okay. I'll do all the tedious stuff.'

'How tedious do you imagine this getting?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Fred dismissed, reaching a hand over her to pull her torso close, and with it, the rest of her body.

Kisses were planted in sequence on her lips, then legs entangled and shoes shrugged off and smiles exchanged with millimeters between faces; Fred wove his hands through her hair then slid them down to remove her formal overcoat, and Barbara traced the lines of his collar bones before discarding the jacket he had just put on, and all this between moments of scattered confessions of "I love you" and the lacing of limbs and lips and everything together at once.

Then knocking sounds from the door of the bedroom.

'Are you two committing sins of the flesh?'

Fred swore, moving until he was clear of Barbara and straightening out his clothing. On the other side of the room, she did the same.

'Who is it?'

'Molly.'

'Bloody hell!' Fred vociferated, throwing open the door with a flurry of manic aggression and irritation. 'What do _you_ want?'

'Oh,' said Molly, looking over the room, 'you _were_ on the road to lustful activity. Sorry to have stopped you. No, I was just wondering if you'd seen Jess.'

'No,' snapped Fred. 'We haven't. She's probably up north somewhere, Chris was planning something.'

Molly rolled her eyes. 'Okay. Thanks. Sorry for interrupting.'

* * *

_**February 28**_

* * *

Rose turned eighteen that Wednesday. She got various gifts from lots of different people, but the most lovely was a long, long letter from her boyfriend Will, accompanied by a bouquet of flowers and a set of books she'd told him she wanted to read. Many were jealous.

* * *

_**February 29**_

* * *

It was a strangely eerie day: February 29th. It didn't come along often; only once in four years. Consequently, many people thought of it as something like an escape. Hugo Weasley joked that next time this happened, he'd have a girlfriend, and Gabbie told him that the chance of that was slim; then that she was kidding, and that she felt bad about saying what she'd said.

* * *

_**March 1**_

* * *

**(IOU)**

'Barbara got a letter from Cordelia.'

'Oh,' said James, 'did she?'

'She's got a boyfriend.'

'Oh,' said James, 'has she?'

* * *

**(Snow)**

Scorpius thought about how long he and Patricia had been together.

It made him smile. Then she asked him why he was smiling, and said it was because of a frilly green dress at a party nine years before. She kissed him after that.

* * *

_**March 2 & 3**_

* * *

Another boring weekend. How commonplace they were becoming.

* * *

_**March 4**_

* * *

'Will you _stop it_?!' Cordelia snapped. 'Just stop it! Okay?! I've had enough!'

Bridget and Sarah stopped, staring at their friend from across the dormitory as though she had sprouted large black wings and begun flying around spitting acid.

'I'm sick of everyone comparing my relationship with Kevin to my relationship with James!' She crossed to where they sat, the door swinging magically shut behind her. 'Don't look at me like that, Bridget. I know you're all doing it. You do it when you think I'm not listening—not just you two, though this is the third time I've heard you discussing it, but Al and the others. And I'm just... I'm sorry, but I'm sick of it. I really, really am.'

'Cordelia,' Sarah began, 'we're sorry, it's just that... well, we knew what things were like when you and James first got together. And it's not that we aren't happy for you now that you've found Kevin! But... I don't know, Cordelia, you just... James was this _demigod_. He was the epitome of everything you'd ever talked about wanting. He was everything any of us had ever wanted; and he chose you. And, for all we know, he's not that guy anymore, but James just seemed to be _more_. More than Hogwarts could handle. More than everything. Larger than life. And... and he just... he—he _loved_ you.'

Cordelia sighed. 'I've been with Kevin a week and people are already making James sound like a martyr. My life doesn't revolve around James Potter. It did once, but I've got to move on from that now. I have my own life to live.'

'Just striking a cord,' Bridget murmured.

'I was going to ask you about Transfiguration,' the Head Girl explained, 'but I've just remembered what the assignment was. Again—sorry.'

* * *

_**March 5**_

* * *

_Tuesday. Like Monday, but slightly less depressing._

To his right, Patricia laughed. She scribbled back a note in response.

_At least we have two frees after lunch_.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. _I've a shit ton of Head work to do._

_You're not being forced to do it._

He scoffed. _Yes, I am. Have you not witnessed the banshee that is panic-stricken Cordelia Gilbert? She's terrifying. If I don't do it, she'll probably kill some poor Hufflepuff._

_Oh, come on. Stop being such a sad sack. I can think of countless other things you could be doing with your two or three hours of free time._

She nudged him with her knee; Scorpius's eyes flickered up to meet Patricia's. An understanding was reached.

_I'm sure I've got plenty of time to work tomorrow._

* * *

_**March 6**_

* * *

They were both panting slightly—perhaps "breathing heavily" offers more romantic undertones—Andy's back pressed against the beech tree. She smiled slightly.

'Well,' she managed, quite breathless. 'I never imagined I'd snog someone under an Invisibility Cloak. I kind of feel like I'm defiling a Hallow.'

Albus laughed. 'Well, it's that or get caught for breaking curfew.'

'We're the Prefects on patrol, Al.'

'Yes, but since when do the Prefects patrol the _outside of the castle_?'

Andy shrugged. 'Since now.' She took Albus's hand and the two began to walk back to the light of the castle, still under the shroud of the Cloak. 'We definitely need to do this more.'

'What? Offer to take double shifts so that the Heads can sleep?'

'No,' she guided, leaning onto his shoulder and earning herself a kiss to the temple. 'The other thing was nice, though. I can't imagine where you learned all that. Bridget Davies doesn't seem like the type.'

Albus rolled his eyes, ignoring the fact that he was probably blushing. 'She certainly wasn't. I've never really _done_ anything like that. It just sort of... could I call it Beginners' Luck?'

'If it were Beginners' Luck, I'd be the one affected, love. Perhaps I am. I'm _lucky_ to have _begun_ my relationships with someone as incredible as you.'

'You're such an annoying sap,' Albus told her, lacing their fingers even more significantly.

'You like it.'

'Oh, do I?'

'You like the attention.'

'I could be asleep right now.'

Andy raised an eyebrow. 'You wouldn't be asleep. It's ten o'clock.'

'Is it _really_?' A surprised Albus checked his wristwatch. 'Merlin, you're right.'

'Yes, I tend to be that sometimes.'

'Shut up.'

For good measure, another kiss was shared.

* * *

_**March 7**_

* * *

Even more boring than March 3. And that's saying something.

* * *

_**March 8**_

* * *

'So,' said Scorpius, leaning back against the railing of the staircase. 'Kevin Corner.'

The Ravenclaw in question fidgeted a little. 'Am I right in feeling like this could turn into an interrogation very soon?'

Albus, standing beside the Head Boy, raised his eyebrows. 'No, you're quite correct. See, Cordelia's like a little sister to us—despite the fact that we're actually the same size—and since Mitchell's twelve, he can't really play the role of Scary Brother.'

'I can't believe this is actually happening,' said Kevin.

'Can we walk?' asked Scorpius, gesturing for Albus to stand on the opposite side of their company. They continued down the corridor for a bit; thankfully, it was deserted. (Albus would think "thankfully", Scorpius would just be pleased at the power he had as Head Boy and how people listened to him when he told them to bugger off from the Charms corridor at that particular time on that particular day.)

'Okay,' said the Head Boy after a time. 'Kevin. Kev—_dear_. Can I call you "Kev"?' Kevin realized that Scorpius honestly didn't care if "Kev" was an all right address, and thus did not respond. Scorpius continued. 'Anyway, you've got quite the thing for Cordelia, yeah?'

Kevin raised an eyebrow. 'I'm her... boyfriend...'

'Details.' Scorpius crossed his arms. 'Better than a Potter.'

'Hey!' snapped Albus.

'You know what I mean.'

'Look,' said Kevin, 'are we done here? I need to go to Muggle Studies.'

'Almost,' Scorpius assured him. 'We just want to make sure Cordelia is well taken care of. No funny business, young man. We'll have your head, and all that. You're treading on thin ice. No matter what _urges_ you get—'

'Okay,' said Albus, 'Scorpius, shut the bloody hell up; go to Muggle Studies, Kevin. The Ministry won't have you for PR if you don't pass that class with flying colours.'

Kevin, looking slightly puzzled, grinned at them both and departed.

* * *

_**March 9**_

* * *

'You know, James, your nineteenth birthday doesn't usually revolve around your ex-ex-girlfriend. The fact that you just made me say "ex-ex-girlfriend" leads me to believe things are bad, though.'

The Montrose Magpie rolled his eyes, which he then continued to rub. He wasn't crying, simply tired. Fred sighed. It wasn't as though James would listen anyway.

'Look,' Fred tried again, 'if she's gone off with another bloke, then that's _her_ loss. After eight months, though, of you toying with her—and you being with someone else, too—I don't exactly blame the girl.'

James ran his hands through his hair. 'But I love her, Fred. I _love_ her.'

'Then maybe you shouldn't have ended it last year.'

James frowned. 'Because that's brand new bloody information, isn't it? Because _you_ know all about romance.'

Fred flashed the thin band of gold around his ring finger. 'Yes, _actually_. You could take a lesson or two from me. Why did you kiss her in Hogsmeade last month? Why are you still hung up on it?'

James sighed. 'I wanted to. She was upset and I just... I would've held her tight if we were still together, and she was just so... _Cordelia_, and—I don't know, Fred.'

'Well, I suggest you figure it out really fast, because you're my cousin, and although you think you're incredibly in love with this bird, it's been more than half a year since you dumped her; moving on is realistic. In fact, it's encouraged.'

'But I don't want to move on! I'm nineteen; I think I'm old enough to know what love is—what if I don't get it again, Fred?'

Fred raised his eyebrows. 'You're one of the top Chasers on the Montrose Magpies. If you're not batting them away as it is, I'm pretty sure it's not long until you start.'

'I don't care about those other girls.'

'That must have been one hell of a kiss, then; for Cordelia to leave you thinking about her _this_ long without actually having reciprocated.'

James thought about it. 'I don't know. The things she said to me—she told me, more or less, that she'd still been in love with me all that time, since August. That she said yes to Kevin because he wasn't me, because he was safe.'

'Maybe you should listen to her. Let her be happy, you know?'

'She won't be happy.'

'What if she _is_?'

James set his jaw. 'Do you really think I'd accept that before I'd been walked all over and proven wrong?'

'No, but—'

'"But" nothing. I just have to bide my time.'

* * *

_**March 10**_

* * *

'Hey, Hugo!'

The Gryffindor in question wheeled around. 'Gabbie!'

She caught up to him quite quickly and it took Hugo a split second to notice that something was slightly amiss. She seemed a bit tentative. He wouldn't have noticed it with anyone else, but Gabbie was _Gabbie_; they may not have spent hours on end together —as much as he wished this were the case—but he certainly knew her better than he knew most of his peers.

'Is there something I should know about?' he asked, trying to retain a joking tone to show that he wasn't completely serious. Unless she needed him to be. He'd be anything she needed him to be. That's what love does, even if Hugo didn't know it yet.

'How'd you know?'

'I know _you_,' said Hugo. 'Now, what's up? Is it bad? Must someone be hexed?'

'No, no—nothing like that,' Gabbie reassured him. 'It's just... er, are you friends with Matthew Leighton?'

Hugo, though surprised, replied, 'yeah. He's in my dormitory. Why?'

Gabbie shrugged it off. 'What's he like?'

His suspicions growing, Hugo hesitated. 'Uh, he's—he's funny, quite nice; knows a lot about trivial things. My cousins think he's hot. I don't know, he's just one of those roommates. Why?'

Gabbie blushed.

'_Why_?' Hugo pressed.

'He... er...'

'Gabbie, come on.'

'Matthew Leighton asked me out.'


	46. Nausea and Trepidation

**Disclaimer:** Sorry, Jo.

**AN:** How many of you live in Great Britain or Ireland? I'm making a trip there over June and July and it would be so wonderful to find out if I had any readers who were interested in perhaps meeting up or something similar. I don't know, I just want to make some new friends!

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Six**

"**Nausea and Trepidation"**

**Or**

"**When Seers Get It Right".**

* * *

'Since I can't be with you right now I will have to be content just dreaming about when we will be together again.' _— Anonymous_.

* * *

_**March 11**_

* * *

Matthew Leighton wasn't a very tall fifteen-year-old. He had dark hair and brown eyes, and though his nose was relatively large, it seemed to fit his face well. His smile was what some would deem "to die for", and he'd always been very athletic-looking, but his Muggle heritage had left him with very little interest in Quidditch, though he appreciated the art.

Matthew Leighton slept in the four-poster closest the window, and since they were the only two in the dormitory now, Hugo felt it best to address an issue he'd had on his mind all day.

'Did you really ask Gabbie Sterling out?'

Matthew looked up from his football magazine. 'Yeah. She didn't really give me an answer, though.'

'Oh,' said Hugo, giving his wand a quick wave and not bothering to attend to the pile of books on the bedside table that his spell was straightening up. 'I assume you asked her to Hogsmeade? We're going this weekend.'

'Yeah. But she just sort of said she'd think about it.'

'You sound kind of disappointed,' Hugo told him.

Matthew thought about it. Or at least he seemed to be doing something along those lines. 'I... well, I would've liked a "yes" first time—but that's the same with anybody. But I don't care, really; as long as Gabbie's happy.' He sighed. 'You two are friends, aren't you?'

Hugo nodded, continuing to work on maintaining an organized environment; though, really, he just wanted to keep himself busy while speaking to Matthew. 'Yeah, we're friends.'

Matthew sighed. 'How do you do it?'

'Do what?'

'Be Gabbie's friend—that close to her every day—and not fall for her,' Matthew explained. 'She's... she's something special.'

Hugo experienced, in that instant, the terrible feeling of being so emotionally invested in something that it began to physically hurt; his stomach dropped and there was a lump at the back of his throat, but he wasn't really sure why.

'I... yeah, she certainly is.'

'Do you think she's going to say "yes"?'

'T-to what?' Hugo spluttered; he had spaced out quite entirely, in an effort to comprehend exactly what was happening to him. 'Oh—er—I don't know. Just give her some time.'

* * *

_**March 12**_

* * *

'Oh, good, you're off work! Come with me, love; Fred's already waiting with Teddy.'

A very confused Barbara allowed herself to be pulled down the street by Victoire Lupin, whose hand was clasping hers.

'Change of plans,' Victoire explained quite quickly, 'I wanted to see you two to talk about tables and seating arrangements!'

'Can't we just base it off of yours?' groaned Barbara.

'Oh, heavens no!' said Victoire, as if such a thing would be a travesty. 'Think of all the ghastly Frenchwomen! I swear—if mum had been a _wee_ bit bloody lenient, there wouldn't have been such a fiasco.'

'Please tell me we're Apparating soon; I've had enough walking for one day.'

'Honestly, Barbs, I thought you were meant to be half Muggle.'

* * *

_**March 13**_

* * *

Albus wanted to protect the country from dark wizards.

Andy wanted to bake.

Albus _told_ his girlfriend what he wanted to do post-Hogwarts.

Andy's boyfriend _knew_ what she wanted to do post-Hogwarts.

'An Auror dating a baker?'

'Hm...' Andy considered it. 'Well, it'd certainly be a first. If we make it that far.'

Albus's smile faltered. 'Yeah. Two years of Auror training is a long time.'

Andy took his hand. 'I'm sorry—I mean, of _course_ we'll make it that far. We want to be together, right? So who knows?'

'Then why would you say that? Why would you even bring up an "if"?'

'I'm _sorry_,' she repeated. 'We're going to keep this up. We are.'

* * *

_**March 14**_

* * *

'Look,' said Scorpius, that Thursday night in the Heads' Office when he and Cordelia were meant to be writing up a schedule for the different houses' Quidditch practices, 'I'm going to have to be honest. I know it's not my place to comment on your relationships, and whether or not you should be in one, but I really don't think Kev's the bloke for you.'

'"Kev"?' Cordelia repeated, looking up from the list as she jotted down _Lily Potter_. 'Why not?'

'Well...' Scorpius considered it. 'I don't really know how to put this... he's really... _vanilla_.'

Setting down her quill, Cordelia raised her eyebrows. '"V-van-vanilla"?' she spluttered. 'What—what does that even _mean_?'

'You know—plain, clean-cut? Boring?'

Cordelia glared at Scorpius. 'He's not _boring!_'

'So you're telling me he's ragingly hilarious?'

'Well, no—but our jokes are circumstantial...'

Scorpius snorted. 'Oh wow, love, I can see you're trying _really_ hard.'

'You don't know him like I do—'

'—at least James was a laugh—'

The parchment fell into Cordelia's lap, forgotten. Her face paled, blank for a second, and then her brown eyes narrowed and her mouth opened. 'A, why do you suddenly love James? And B, since when do you refer to him as "_James_"?'

Scorpius avoided the question, and instead continued with, 'Slytherin gets the pitch this weekend, okay? We have to be ready to beat your arses next game.'

* * *

_**March 15**_

* * *

'Professor,' asked Shelley Corner. There was a collective groan from the other students in the room. They were halfway through a very important in-class essay that would help to prepare them for the N.E.W.T. examinations, and this would have been the first time for Shelley to strike up a flirt fest with their teacher.

However, this was not what Shelley had in mind.

'Is it true there's been another sighting of an Acromantula? Outside, near the greenhouses?'

Professor Bell's head snapped up from his work and he looked across the room at Shelley with slightly-widened eyes. 'Where did you hear that?'

'A second-year told me.'

'_Ew!_' exclaimed Misty Mumps. 'You were with a _second-year?!_'

Shelley's eyes narrowed. 'No, Misty Mumps, I was not "with" a second-year, as you put it. I can talk to people normally, as opposed to snogging them.'

Professor Bell looked concerned. 'I... fine. You're old enough to know, anyway.'

'Know what?' asked Kevin Corner.

'There's something the administrators haven't quite told you.'

'What do you mean by that?' Bridget Davies enquired, as Scorpius muttered in an irritated tone: 'we're all going to die, aren't we? _Shit_.'

'These spiders—the Acromantulas that you've been seeing; the ones that began coming onto school grounds since last year—they're more frequent than you've been thinking.'

'How?' Cordelia protested. 'All the things I've read have said that, post-Battle of Hogwarts, the Acromantula colony in the Forbidden Forest spread out, scrambled. The books said there weren't any left.'

'Maybe they just wanted to get to sleep at night,' Andy reasoned. The thought of living somewhere directly beside a collection of overgrown arachnids certainly did not appeal to her.

'Guys, stop interrupting,' said Al, 'I want to know what's going on.'

Professor Bell sighed. 'It's... well, there have been a lot of other occurrences. Acromantula appearances as often as every week or so.'

'That explains so much!' exclaimed Patricia. 'There was a massive one in Scorpius's room—' At this point, she seemed to realize how far she had gone into revealing the intimacies of her relationship, and she fortunately managed to avoid blushing. 'Or at least, that's what you told me—right, Scorp?'

'Yeah,' said the Head Boy, quite nonchalantly. 'I also had to kill a massive one in the Head's Office.'

Cordelia and Shelley shot each other looks and muffled laughter. Kevin, though he noticed this, refrained from asking and instead turned his attention back to Professor Bell, rather than his girlfriend.

'I swear,' said Professor Bell, his face slightly pale, 'these spiders will be the death of me.'

'Don't say that,' said Lottie Flanagan with a wince. 'Just don't.'

'Oh, shut up, Lottie,' muttered Melissa. 'Just because _you_ take Divination.'

* * *

_**March 16**_

* * *

The streets of Hogsmeade were crowded between each line of shops that illuminated the main road. Everybody seemed to be whizzing around, elated to have some time out of the school at last. Most seventh-year couples could be found in The Three Broomsticks, and there were a tentative cluster of fourth-years in Madam Puddifoot's, but a very unsettling scene unfolded right outside the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes branch where Hugo had decided to help out on the day in question. (He had nothing better to do.)

'You look wonderful,' said Matthew, 'thanks for coming.'

Gabbie smiled at him. 'Thanks for asking.'

'D'you want to go and do something? The Three Broomsticks is pretty full.'

'Mind if we go and check out the bookshop? There's something there that I've been trying to find for ages.'

Matthew raised an eyebrow. 'If you've been trying to find it and not succeeding,' he said, 'how do you know it's there?'

'Oh,' said Gabbie, 'Hugo told me last Hogsmeade trip. He said he would've bought it for me but he was a Sickle short.'

Matthew smiled. 'Let's find out if _I'm_ a Sickle short then, eh?'

* * *

_**March 17**_

* * *

'How's it feel to be nineteen, Potter?'

James swatted at the back of Dominique's head as he passed the bench she was sitting on to move further around the kitchen. 'Same way eighteen felt, Wheeze.' He grinned, tossing her a bottle of butterbeer, which she caught in one hand. 'How's twenty-one doing you?'

She took a sip. 'Old and unaccomplished.'

'Oh,' said James, 'how bitter. What's wrong with what you've done with your life so far?'

Dominique shrugged, jumping off of the bench with cat-like finesse. 'Vic had Teddy.'

James scoffed. 'Vic's _always_ had Teddy, though. You'll find someone. You _are_ only twenty-one.' He followed her into the living room, where they both collapsed on the couch and James wordlessly turned on the wireless. It seemed the WWN was sympathetic of the conversation's current mood, for it played slow, uplifting songs for the rest of Dominique's visit.

'You don't have to be Vic, you know,' James told her. 'You're just as good as she is, regardless of relationship or anything else.'

Dominique rolled her eyes. 'Victoire is golden.'

'Hey,' said James, 'you're just as good.'

'I shouldn't have to be "just as",' said Dominique. 'There shouldn't have to be a comparison.'

James rolled his eyes. 'Then why do you always make it sound like that's what you want?'

Dominique sighed exasperatedly and began to gesture wildly with her hands. 'Look, I just... I don't _bloody_ know! I'm so _sick_ of people constantly comparing me to the rest of the family, and everything's so... it's... can't _any_ of us get a damn _break?!_'

* * *

_**March 18-24**_

* * *

The week spanning between March 18th and March 24th brought with it very little new information. Molly had a meeting, in which she was offered a promotion; Louis got a total of three kisses and three Os for essays he had written the night before they were due; the highlight of the week by far, as being judged by Hogwarts students, was the outcome of the Ravenclaw-Slytherin Quidditch match.

Slytherin won, by one hundred and seventy points, and there was not much to be done on the Ravenclaw side but to cringe, because Cordelia had tears streaking down her face by the end of it, the team had been yelling at each other so much. Kevin tried to offer solace but the Head Girl instead retired to her bedroom and listened to "Strawberry Fields Forever" whilst cursing infidelity and wood from a country in Europe.

* * *

_**March 25**_

* * *

'It's the end of the day,' Gabbie declared, plotting herself down beside Hugo at a table in the library. They were the only two in that corner of the large establishment, but there was quite a loud section of Hufflepuffs twenty metres away, and so the distance did not feel significant in the slightest.

'I _am_ quite fond of those,' Hugo supposed.

He set down his quill and closed his book, because it was highly unlikely that any work was going to be done with a breathtaking Ravenclaw sitting beside him. Especially not if it was Gabbie.

* * *

_**March 26**_

* * *

Nothing of importance. I kid you not.

* * *

_**March 27**_

* * *

On this day, in this place, Victoire and Teddy spent the better half of three hours debating possible baby names with Molly. The child was to be born in the following months. As if _anyone_ could have forgotten that.

* * *

_**March 28**_

* * *

Also nothing of importance. I give you no extra kidding.

* * *

_**March 29**_

* * *

'It's been a good month,' said Kevin.

'For any reason in particular?' asked Albus; who, along with Scorpius, had taken up the task of studying for Defence Against the Dark Arts tests with Kevin Corner.

'It's been a month and I've still got her,' Kevin replied.

Scorpius groaned. 'Please tell me you're not one of those touchy-feely couples who celebrate every four weeks they manage to stay as equally in love and sickening to the public eye.'

Kevin bit his lip. 'Okay, I'll be quiet.'

* * *

_**March 30**_

* * *

'It's been a bad month,' said James.

He leaned back onto the arm of the couch, closing his eyes as he did so. Ginny, sitting across the living room, raised an eyebrow.

'Why's that?' she asked quizzically.

James shook his head. 'Never you mind. You'd call me stupid.'

'Then it _must_ be a good story,' said Ginny. 'Tell me now, or I'll take the mickey out of you when your dad gets home. I know you _love_ that.'

'Shut up, mum.'

Ginny shot him a stern look, and James commenced his story.

'Okay, so... you know how I went up to Hogsmeade at the start of February? I kind of went to visit Cordelia—_don't look at me like that, mum!_ Seriously, stop it. I hate that look; it makes me feel inadequate—anyway, I went to see her, and we-sort-of-kissed and then she basically told me to back off, which is totally understandable, but I just... I loved her so _much_, you know? Anyway, now she's seeing this bloke called Kevin; he's the Ravenclaw Keeper and he's the straight-laced defined-as-"nice" kind. It's...' James faded off, incoherent.

'Weren't you still with Monique at the beginning of February?' asked Ginny.

James paled. 'Er...y-y-yeah. That... was the case.'

The pillow that had been previously residing beside James promptly levitated and began viciously beating him across the head; it was so profuse that his arms had to be used as shields and as he looked over at his mother rather beseechingly she just glared at him and shrieked, 'I cannot _believe_ you, James Sirius Potter!'

'Mum! Mum! Stop it—_ow!_ _Mum! Stop!_'

'I am absolutely disgusted! I've kept quiet about all the things you've got up to over the years—hearing those things from Neville! Do you think any mother's _wanted_ to hear that stuff about her son? _No!_ But last year things seemed to be changing; you'd been in two mature, loving relationships—'

'—mum, you hated Monique; you thought she was a tart—'

'—well at least it was_ bloody monogamous!_'

'Mum! Stop it!'

* * *

_**March 31**_

* * *

Barbara held her hand to her forehead, pale and dotted in cold sweat. 'Fred!' she called; grateful for the hand basin in their bathroom for it was the only thing keeping her stable and standing. 'Fred, I don't feel well!'

He came dashing from the kitchen, where dinner was being made. The bathroom door opened soundlessly and Barbara's fiancée met her gaze, eyes wide.

'A—are you okay?'

'Do I look it?' she managed sarcastically.

Fred held out his hands, clasping Barbara's forearms, one of which was clutched against the sink so tightly that her knuckles turned white. 'What's wrong?' he asked urgently. 'Was it something you ate? Did you drink something while I was gone yesterday?'

'N-no,' said Barbara, 'I don't think it was that.'

Fred nodded to show that he understood this. 'Er—what do you think it could be, then? D'you want to go to St. Mungo's? Is it that bad?'

Barbara's lips turned colorless. 'I... I don't know if it's...'

Suddenly, more urgently, she grabbed onto his upper arms. 'Fred—Fred, everything's spinning—!'

'W—what?!' he scrambled to ask.

And then his fiancée's eyes rolled backward and she collapsed into him.


	47. Candles

**Disclaimer:** I have rights. Just not to this.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

"**Candles"**

**Or**

"**When Milton Harper Breaks An Arm".**

* * *

_"The lunatic, the lover and the poet / are of imagination all compact.__" _— William Shakespeare

* * *

_**April 1**_

* * *

**(Eyes As Candles)**

'Happy birthday, dad!'

Fred Weasley always made a big deal about his father's birthday; more so than anyone else. The whole family knew why. They knew what George had lost, and that this day was—in its own way—worse than the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. It was not the date that broke George, really; it was the loneliness of it. He was surrounded by friends and family, and yet it would never be enough. He was disconnected, isolated—he would stay this way no matter what happened, no matter what changed.

George wrapped his arms around Fred. Both the wrong and the right one. Wrong and right Fred. Eternally.

'Thanks, Fred,' he said. 'Feels weird to have one of my kids present for my birthday after five years of not having to worry.'

'Really, dad? You didn't have to worry about me at Hogwarts?'

George rolled his eyes. 'You're such a Smart Alec that I almost wish you were still there.'

'Nah,' Fred protested. 'You need me around. My biting wit and endless charm gets us mountains of customers at the shop.'

'Mine used to,' George told him. He got a wistful look in his eye. 'I looked like you, Fred. When I was your age.'

'Less tan,' they added simultaneously, which fueled a smile and a laugh.

After a moment, George sighed. 'Nineteen.'

'Forty-six,' Fred replied, grinning and stating his father's newly-reached age. It was the least he could do to make sure George's mind wasn't wandering elsewhere. Then again, Fred supposed, it always was. It constantly would have been. The ache of losing someone so close wasn't something you forgot. Suddenly, Fred felt very unimportant in the great retrospect of his father's life. Of the Weasley family.

He could not have been more wrong.

* * *

**(Candles)**

'You're going to be okay,' said Lily Potter.

The first-year whimpered, his arm bent unrealistically. His face was white and the otherwise-pristine Slytherin robes he wore were splattered with blood. Lily, kneeling on the ground beside the young boy and leaning over to gage his injuries, extracted her wand from her pocket. The first-year winced. Tears were welling in his eyes, the pain in his arm an evident source.

'_Episkey!_'

There was a loud _crack_ of bones moving back together and bleeding being quelled. Lily raised her wand again, but this time to transfigure the hairband she had been using to keep the long red locks from blocking her view into a bandage to wrap around the young Slytherin's arm. He smiled weakly.

'I haven't cleaned it up properly, or professionally repaired it by any means, but you should be all right for now.' She helped him up, taking the arm that wasn't wounded. 'Come on, I'll take you to Madam Pomfrey.'

* * *

'How'd _this_ happen?!' Scorpius Malfoy asked of Lily Potter, stepping directly in front of her and blocking any kind of passage away from the bed where the first-year Slytherin was currently located. The hospital wing was empty, except for them and perhaps five other students, two occupying beds. Scorpius gestured towards the first-year once more.

'I don't know,' said Lily, who understood the urgency with which he spoke but also did not see an immediate need for it. Scorpius may have been Albus's best friend, but he was never civil with James, and Lily had never encountered him off the Quidditch pitch except for once which led to her almost punching him in the nose over an issue that seemed trivial now. Actually, they had interacted twice. That time, and the occasion in the Great Hall the previous year, when the less-than-savory relationship between Rose and Scorpius had been revealed. In short: Lily was not sure if she liked the Head Boy.

'Did you see anything?' Scorpius pressed.

'_No_,' Lily told him. 'When I got there, it was just him lying on the floor. Believe me, I was just as worried as you are now.'

His eyes left her and focused on the young boy who now lay asleep.

'Look, I know you're the Head Boy, and I know he's in your house, so you feel responsible for him, but I don't think that makes treating everyone else like suspects justified in any sense.'

Scorpius sighed. 'I'm not treating you like a suspect. I would never for a second think you did this.'

'Because I'm Al's sister?'

'Because no _decent_ person would.' Scorpius looked around the hospital wing. 'You say you didn't see anything, except for that kid bleeding on the ground. I believe you. But did he _say_ anything?'

Lily shook her head.

'So we have absolutely no way of knowing who did this? How do we bring someone to justice?'

She shrugged. 'Well, let's try and see who we can rule out.'

Scorpius smirked. 'All of Hufflepuff.'

Lily appreciated the joke, but still asked, 'can you be so sure? There wouldn't be anyone in that house who had it in for a first-year Slytherin?'

'I shouldn't think so,' said Scorpius. 'And I don't rule out Hufflepuff because I want to make a jab at their house. I say that because it's just not in their character. They're the only for-sure people in our school who wouldn't hurt a little kid. Apart from teachers, of course.'

Lily, who realized in that moment just how close together they were standing, moved to sit in the chair beside the first-year's bed. She looked at him; the pale, thin face that still held youth in its cheeks. His hair was cut slightly too short, so it stuck out in all directions but somehow maintained a position against his scalp. There was the beginning of a patch of freckles across his nose.

'Who _would_ want to hurt a first-year, though?' she breathed. 'What's _he_ done?'

Scorpius shrugged. 'Search me.'

They were quiet momentarily. Lily watched the sleeping boy for any telltale sign of who could have been the one to break his arm, but in her peripheral vision, she could see Scorpius's gaze flickering from the boy to herself. Hoping to bring an end to the silence that had settled between them, Lily turned to the Head Boy. It was he who spoke first.

'His name's Milton. Milton Harper.'

'Do you know him?' Lily asked.

'No,' said Scorpius, 'not really. I just like to keep up with who I have to look after. And you seemed pretty worried, so I wracked my memory for what name was called when I saw him at the Sorting Ceremony.'

She chuckled. 'Well, then. Milton's going to wake up and probably be the talk of the school, whether we like it or not.'

The sound of footsteps echoed around the large atrium-like room, and when Scorpius and Lily turned, it was Lucy Weasley who appeared. She seemed slightly surprised at the presence of the Head Boy, but made no move to say anything. 'Are you coming down to dinner, Lily?'

'Yeah—yeah, of course.' She turned to Scorpius, but he already seemed to know what she would have asked.

'I'll tell you if I found out anything, or if dear little Milton wakes up in time for something to eat.'

Lily smiled at him. 'Thanks. I'll keep an eye out for anyone who looks terribly hostile and could probably resort to something terrible. Because traits like that are blatant.'

Scorpius laughed. 'See you, Lily.'

She turned, gave something of a wave, then embarked off to dinner with Lucy.

* * *

**(Darkness)**

A young woman named Molly Weasley decided to make a detour on her way out of the Ministry on Monday evening. She had had more than her fair share of attempted jokes played, not by the witch, but on her, and even though it was her uncles' birthday, she still deplored April Fools' Day. The first thing on her mind should have been getting home; instead, it was to check if her grandfather had already left.

The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office was nearly empty when Molly arrived. Arthur was still present, but he offered very little conversation after 'I'll be done in a couple of minutes, Molly! Just let me file this report on a Glasgow witch!' and so she tried to keep herself out of the way and occupied for the remainder of the time there was to be spent. One of the workers explained who the Glasgow witch was—apparently, she had jinxed her neighbor's kettle to sprout legs, something like the Wizard and the Hopping Pot, after the aforementioned neighbor had asked to borrow a pair of garden scissors with which to prune their geraniums.

'Molly.'

She swirled around, and found herself two feet away from the black-haired bespectacled young man from months before. This time, he had no "Sonic Screwdriver", and was instead holding a sedated boomerang. As she watched, the boomerang began to squirm, but Jason just sprayed it with a green potion and set it down on his desk.

'Jason,' said Molly. 'Hi.'

'Wow, you remember me. I'm flattered. How are you?'

She thought about it, leaning back against one of the free shelves. '"Good" would be a lie, but I think "soldiering on" would be an exaggeration.' At this, Jason half-smiled. 'I notice you're screwdriver-less,' Molly added.

'Yeah,' said Jason, 'didn't really work out. I mean, it did, in some respects. But I don't think it would ever compare to a wand, so…'

'That's true. What did you want to use it for?'

He shrugged. 'I just liked the idea of it. It's from a Muggle television show.' He paused, eyeing her warily. 'I assume you know what a television is…?'

Molly laughed, nodding. 'Yeah, I've got Muggle relatives.'

Quietness settled between them, in which both seemed reminiscent of an old joke that hadn't been told, but this was interrupted before reaching absolution, for at that moment Arthur bounded over to his granddaughter as nimbly as an old man could, said a quick 'goodbye' to Jason, cast a glance between his employee and the other Weasley in the room, and then promptly left with her. All in about sixty seconds.

* * *

**April 2**

* * *

'Not still moping about your singularity, I hope.'

James looked up, smiling upon the realization that this was Ricky Chapman's version of a joke. He laughed good-naturedly, then told the twenty-seven-year-old Beater, 'hardly. That part of my life is over; for the time being, anyway.'

Ricky set down his rucksack and took a seat beside James. 'Good to know,' said he. 'The last thing you need is any more distractions. I'm sorry, mate, I know you're at the top of your game, but you've got to stay this way for the match against Ireland. We take the BI League quite seriously.'

Recalling the blowouts of rage and hours of hoarse shouting that had ensued many a year at both Hogwarts and at home, James replied, 'Don't I know it.'

'Rick!' called another of the Montrose Magpies. 'Your wife's here—hurry it up, _yeah_?'

Ricky chuckled, clapping James on the shoulder. 'I'd better be going; Abigail _hates_ to be kept waiting.' He turned and took a few steps, before swiveling back around. 'James. Forget what I said. About you not needing any more distractions. Sometimes having someone to impress makes you play better.' He grinned. 'I'd know. See you on Thursday.'

* * *

Cordelia Gilbert hung behind after Quidditch practice on Tuesday night. This was partially because she did not feel in the mood to socialize with the throng of people who would most undoubtedly need her attention at some point during dinner; either to ask about Ancient Runes assignments, whether or not she liked begonias, or Kevin's most recent favorite: which Quidditch league she preferred; and partially because Professor Adrian Bell had stopped off to watch their practice, and a conversation with her teacher seemed inevitable. Bridget also lingered at the pitch, for she had taken quite a liking to Bell recently. It was the kind of thing Cordelia would have rolled her eyes at, had she not been trying to be as nice to Bridget as possible.

'Are you going to miss it?' Adrian—could he be called that, outside lessons? She'd never say it to his face, but Cordelia thought the differentiation didn't matter in her mind—asked, folding his arms as he watched almost lazily from the stands.

'Not really,' said Bridget, but Adrian did not seem to hear her. If he did, Bridget remained unacknowledged.

The Head Girl, down on the grass of the pitch, called back, 'do you?'

He smirked. 'Not the game so much as the House Cup side of it. I suppose you're excited to be out of school, though, almost.'

She considered it. 'Kind of. I mean, going out and doing what I want to do will be a welcome change, but I think I'll miss being here.'

'You could always come back,' Adrian joked, gesturing to himself. 'Be a Professor.'

Cordelia laughed. 'I don't think so; you know what the Muggles say. "Those who can't do…"' she raised a hand and pointed at him. '"…teach."'

He gasped. 'I am _appalled_,' he said, feigning disgust. A moment later, when Cordelia was wondering if she should have begun to leave, he asked, 'did you finish _Limeracci_?' The Professor probably noticed the furrowed eyebrows, because he added, 'it started sliding out of your bag one day during a lesson. I read it a couple of years ago; it was good.'

Cordelia nodded. 'Bridget actually lent it to me, so she's really the expert.'

Even though this would have been the perfect place for Bridget to slip back into the conversation, that was not the case. 'Did _you_ like it, though?'

Cordelia felt her face reddening, but wasn't sure why. 'Uh… yeah. I guess. I mean, if I'm honest, I kind of hated Constantine towards the end, because of her resentment towards Laureate, but… '

Professor Bell nodded. 'I get that. I thought the whole ending was a bit lecherous.'

'I know!' said Cordelia. 'The protagonist running off with the carpenter, and everything that happened with Margoyles…' She sighed. 'That whole book was a hectic amalgamation of emotion.'

Adrian sighed. 'You can say that again.' He then checked his wristwatch. 'Merlin—it's almost half an hour into dinnertime! I'm going to go; I'll see you girls soon. Sorry to hold you up!'

* * *

**April 3**

* * *

'So Barbs is fine,' Victoire repeated for the fifth time. 'There's nothing wrong with her, it was just a freak sick spell? And not "spell" as in charm or jinx, but just you know—a period of time? A once-occurring thing? A "spell"?'

Fred nodded from across the Lupin house's kitchen, where Dominique, James, and Molly watched him. 'I took her to St. Mungo's and it turns out there wasn't anything wrong. Just crazy dizziness, and then she collapsed, but medically, nothing out of the ordinary.' He sighed, tracing the edge of the wooden bench. 'It was scary, though. So sudden.'

'You don't think she's…?' James's eyes widened, a gesture of their own. He pointed to his abdomen, then made a round motion in front of it.

Molly and Dominique exchanged shocked glances, while Fred's face drained of color and his eyes shot to Victoire, the only actual pregnant person in the room. She bit her lip. 'No,' Victoire tried to say. 'No—Barbs would tell you. I-if she was pregnant, she'd say something… wouldn't she?'

They all nodded, trying to convince themselves of this.

Molly shrugged. 'I don't think that's what this is. I mean, think about it: Barbara didn't kiss anyone until she was like, what? Fifteen? Sixteen? I know your relationship's been fast, Fred, in terms of getting engaged at eighteen and moving in together and whatnot, but… I don't think Barbara sees children as the sort of thing you have… straight away. We've talked about it before, and she said she'd want kids at like… twenty-five. Not nineteen.'

Fred let out a long sigh. 'I really hope that she's just sick. Or _was_ just sick. I don't think anyone could handle that… not with what we're having to do right now.' He spread his gaze over his four cousins. 'I love her, don't get me wrong; I'll probably love her more as time progresses, but come on. This isn't wartime; people aren't trying to build families this way and that, they're given time to fall in love—and for a reason. Time's there to be spent. Right? Merlin—listen to me. How pathetic I sound. What's happened to the world?'

'You used to be fun,' said James. 'Now you just talk about marriage all day. That's what happened. You've practically been castrated.'

Dominique burst out laughing and leaned over the kitchen table to give her cousin a high-five. 'I've missed having you around, Jamesie.'

He grinned. 'See? Things are fun when you're not being sombre.'

'It's just because you're single,' Molly said, cutting into James and Dominique's budding side conversation. 'If you had a girlfriend, you'd be just as bad as Fred. Maybe even worse—we all know how _you_ get.'

Victoire snickered. 'This time last year… God. _Insufferable_.'

'Stop taking the piss of me, James,' said Fred.

'You know I don't _mean_ it, Freddie.'

'Of course not. But still. Stop being a prick. Else I'll kick you out of the wedding party.'

James looked affronted. 'But what am I to do if not be best man?'

Dominique rolled her eyes. 'It could be a good thing. We can't have you sleeping with half the bridesmaids, can we?'

'Low,' said Molly, 'low.'

'I'm _reformed_,' James told them, matter-of-factly. 'And by the way, Dom; I never engaged in what you'd call "casual affairs". In fact, I never really engaged in any kind of "affair", if it didn't involve stealing some snarky prat's girlfriend. _But_, nevertheless, reformed. I don't suppose any of you remember how or why—pretty young Ravenclaw? About seventeen now?'

There was a moment of discomfort between the other four, for they weren't sure how to react to this. James didn't seem to notice; instead, he began to quietly sing along to the words of a song running through his mind. 'Well she was just _seventeen_; you know, what I mean… and the way she looked, was way beyond compare. So how, could I dance, with another? Oooooh…' (None of the others knew where it came from, but that was because they were not educated in the vast quantity of Beatles records James had in his possession.)

'I've got to go,' said Molly. 'Alice said Gus would be at our place by seven. She wants to show her brother she isn't living in squalor, so I'd best go help with the decorations.'

'Gus Longbottom?' asked Dominique. (Gus—full name "Augustus"—was really quite dishy.) 'I thought he lived out in Norfolk.'

'He does; he's around for a visit.'

'Ah. Tell him I say "hi" then.'

* * *

Louis abandoned his attempts at studying around five o'clock and intended to return to Gryffindor Tower before dinnertime, but he happened upon someone very familiar in an empty classroom. Various enchantments and potions ingredients were writing themselves out on the blackboard, and a group of possibly fifty yellow birds twittered in the corner. Hugo sat at one of the desks.

'Hey, buddy,' Louis said, trying to ease into conversation. This really just made Hugo jump.

'Hi.'

'What's going on? Why're you lurking in an empty room on this particular evening?'

Hugo shrugged. 'I've just had a lot on my mind.'

'Spiders?' Louis asked.

Not turning to watch his cousin approach, Hugo gave only a shrug. Louis sat down atop the desk beside him.

'Gabbie?'

Hugo flinched. 'How do you know about that?'

'It's inexplicable; I just sort of… well, it makes sense, doesn't it? Girl and Boy become friends, Boy starts to fancy Girl, Girl begins to date friend of Boy…' Louis raised his hands in surrender. 'I guess it's just the universe.'

'I hate the universe,' Hugo grumbled. 'You know the worst part of it?'

'What?'

'I really like her. I really like her and I was just starting to think that perhaps there's a chance she'd feel the same way—didn't what happened with Alana sort of leave me… not _deserving_ that, but sort of… on that route? I know life's not fair and the universe doesn't run on karma, but I really thought this was the one time I might've had a chance.'

Louis sighed. 'Come on, bud. Let's go to the kitchens. We'll see if the house elves have something to improve your mood.'

'Can't,' said Hugo miserably. 'I'm meeting Gabbie at the Lake before dinner. She wants to make sure Al won't make me ice her out in the time before we play Gryffindor.'

When Louis rolled his eyes, Hugo snapped, 'Oh, I know what you're thinking—but I have to stay her friend, don't I? Believe it or not, I'm _slightly_ logical. Excuse me? All Os.'

'You inherited your mother's brains,' said Louis. 'But apparently your father's everything else.'

'Oh, how would you know?! You're half French! You don't have these problems!'

And, with that, Hugo stormed out; off to find Gabbie, presumably.

* * *

**April 4**

* * *

Scorpius Malfoy woke to fanfare and a girlfriend he wasn't sure he wanted in his room.

'Happy eighteenth, love!' Patricia cried, rolling across Scorpius's bed to give him a quick peck before promptly jumping off it again. 'How does it feel?'

'Wait four days and you'll know for yourself,' said the Head Boy, pulling himself out of bed with a groan. 'I'll be ready in twenty minutes.'

'Or I could stay and make it thirty,' she offered.

Scorpius sighed, giving her a smile. 'No, not today.'

Patricia stuck out her tongue at him. 'Your loss. I'm going to go and see what Venice had to tell me.'

* * *

Roxanne Weasley descended upon Albus Potter, a pummel of fists and fury. The breakfast table and its occupants that surrounded the two people in question were all rather shocked. Albus himself raised his arms so to be protected, but this didn't seem to do much to deter Roxanne.

'Puddlemere United is ten times the team that the Wasps are!' she said disdainfully. 'Don't try to tell me otherwise.'

Albus raised his eyebrows, for the issuing of death blows had stopped. 'And how much of that has to do with Chris?'

'None of it,' Roxanne sniffed. 'None of it at all.'

* * *

Scorpius stopped Lily just as she reached the middle of the Entrance Hall. 'Milton's okay,' he told her, when she turned around. The hand he had used to call her attention fell back to its normal position and Lily smiled. 'He wasn't quite clear on who it was that broke his arm, but we've managed to narrow it down.'

The smile faded from the Gryffindor's face. 'Narrow it down to who, exactly?'

Scorpius gestured to the throng of people passing them, then leaned in to ask, 'can we talk about this somewhere else?'

They had very little time in which to talk, and so Lily led him to the corner of the Entrance Hall where they would have the least chance of interruption or being overheard. She placed her hands on her hips.

'So, what's the shortened list?'

'They were older,' Scorpius recollected. 'Not first-years.'

'Well, that's helpful. Now we only have to scour the other six.'

He rolled his eyes. 'You wanted to hear this, Lily. Could you not interrupt?'

'Sorry.'

'Okay, so they weren't first-years, and apparently, they were Ravenclaws.'

'Ravenclaws?' repeated Lily, whose eyes were wide. '"They"?'

'A group of three, give or take. And yes, Ravenclaws; you heard me right.'

Lily's eyebrows furrowed. 'Roughly three Ravenclaws who aren't first-years. Got it. Anything else? Were there any noticeable characteristics?'

Scorpius shrugged. 'He didn't know them. But that doesn't really help much, because who _do_ you know, as a first year?'

Lily sighed, for there was limited information to go on apart from the house and the age bracket, which was a wide one at that. She looked at Scorpius, but he had something of a distant expression on his face; deep in thought. Lily didn't want to intrude. He seemed to be in the midst of remembering something, whether it was to do with the attack on Milton or what he'd wanted for breakfast when he woke up this morning. He'd always been one of those people Lily couldn't quite read. She set these thoughts aside, and waited a moment for Scorpius to say something. He didn't.

'That's all we have to go on, then?' asked Lily. 'All of Ravenclaw, apart from perhaps ten kids in first year?'

Scorpius, train of thought broken (or perhaps just interrupted momentarily, for Lily did not know what kind of locomotive it had been), nodded. 'I think he said they were blokes. That's half gone from what we had ten seconds ago.'

'You _think_ he said they were blokes?'

'They were blokes.'

'Okay.'

The Head Boy's mind wandered from the present conversation he was having with Lily Potter and instead began to analyze his own memory. Specifically, that morning. The motives behind it. He had awoken to what should have been a beautiful sight; it was a very familiar one, at least. Music playing, Patricia standing there, with the same brown hair and brown eyes as he had grown so accustomed to seeing. Something had felt off. It shouldn't have. What could be better than seeing your best friend—and _girlfriend_, for that matter—the moment you woke up? Maybe he was just acting strangely because it was his birthday. Maybe it was—

'Scorpius?'

He started. Lily was looking at him expectantly, her eyebrows slightly raised.

'Sorry.'

She chuckled slightly. 'That's fine. You were just starting to look very dazed and I was worried you'd faint or something. That's the _last_ thing we need right now.'

'Yeah—collapsing Head Boy, on top of attacks on eleven-year-olds and Acromantula showing up every week? What else is Hogwarts due for?'

When he looked back, Lily seemed to have picked up on something. Her eyes had narrowed, like Scorpius had accidentally said too much. Apparently, he had.

'Acromantula showing up every week?'

'Figure of speech.'

'Not with the way _you_ said it.'

Scorpius paled. 'You didn't hear it from me.'

'Who did _you_ hear it from?' Lily pressed. 'One of the Professors?'

He saw no point in lying to her. 'Bell.'

'Of course it was. Does Al know?'

'Everyone in my Defence class does.'

Lily scowled. 'So Al, Rose _and_ Louis all knew and said _nothing_ to the rest of us?!' she said indignantly. 'Some family _they_ are. Bloody spiders could bloody come and attack the damn school and the only people prepared would be the teachers and the bloody _seventh-year Defence class_!' She noticed Scorpius's expression. 'Don't laugh at me. Sorry for the outburst.'

He raised his hands in surrender. 'Don't apologize.'

They were both quiet for a few seconds.

'So,' said Lily quite transparently, 'thanks for telling me everything with Milton and whatnot. With two of us on the lookout, a few people should emerge apparent.'

Scorpius cleared his throat. 'Yes. Yeah. Hopefully.'

'That's it then?'

'That I know of, yeah.'

'All right,' said Lily. 'See you around.'

He nodded. 'See you.'

She hurried off ahead of him, but as she reached the doors of the Great Hall, she turned around. 'Scorpius!' she said.

He looked up, listening.

'Happy eighteenth.'

* * *

**April 5**

* * *

Rose Weasley did not cotton well to the idea that, perhaps, things were not going to be all right after all.

She didn't enjoy the prospect of a potential Acromantula appearance, even though there was very little that was ever said on the topic. It had been a fair few days since Professor Bell's announcement, which Rose hadn't wanted to hear in the first place. She was terrified of spiders. Her father had always hated them; their mother had grown to kill them on-sight. Rose hadn't inherited the stomach, no matter what else genetics had handed her.

She'd written to Will about it, but all he'd said in reply was "_I guess I'll have to be the brave one when we're living together, then. Spider killer and all. Will your parents still approve if I'm a serial murderer?_" and so Rose hadn't mentioned it again. She didn't blame Will—not really. There wasn't anything to blame him for in the first place, but Rose still felt as though she needed to apologize for something. This confused her but she didn't dwell on it.

The concept of battle was foreign to Rose. Her parents had had to live through one, put an end to it. Her grandparents had been forced to brave two. Both instigated, beginning and end, by the same person. Not that the first one had really been warranted the benefit of a proper end. More like the disconnection from a body, if anything.

'I don't know why I'm thinking of these things now,' she told Lottie, to whom she had been ranting for the last fifteen minutes. 'It's just sort of _hit me_.'

'Oh, that's okay, love. We all have our days. Speaking of, can you help me with this Charms proposal?' (Lottie was both the kind of person who jumped from topic to topic very quickly if she felt the conversation was getting too serious and the kind who tended to make said topical jumps more relevant to her life.) 'I'm not sure I quite understand it.'

Rose sighed. 'Yeah, sure. I may as well be of some use around here. Heaven knows what I'll be able to do if confronted with an Acromantula.'

A dismissive laugh told them that Liz was done with her shower. She entered from the bathroom grandly, with a towel wrapped around her body and another around her head, a turban around her untamable reddish hair. (It was strange how many of the girls in that dormitory had hair of that shade: Liz, Lottie, and Rose. The only one not granted such a blessing—or curse, depending on how you viewed it—was Melissa Jordan.) Liz crossed the room to her chest of drawers and began to take out her sleeping attire; much different than that of Lottie, no matter how similar their coloring was.

'Could you cover up a little?' asked Liz, once she had returned from changing clothes in the bathroom.

Lottie gave a derisive chuckle. 'Jealous, Liz?'

'Certainly not. I was just caught a little off-guard that a tart had found its way out of the kitchens without help from the Weasleys.'

Rose cackled into her pillow, while Lottie rolled her eyes and Liz winked.

'Forgive me, Lotts, the opportunity was just too ripe.'

'Just like the cherry in the tart,' Rose muttered. Liz roared.

'You two are no fun!' cried Lottie. 'Forget about the Charms help, Rose. I'll settle with an Acceptable.'

Melissa, who at that moment entered the room, said, 'oh, are we talking about Lottie's love life?'

* * *

**April 6**

* * *

'Barbara, I've just fired Clarissa—you'll have to cover her case, or give it to one of the underlings—there's a good girl!'

Barbara watched her employer high-tail it down the hall, at the end of which she Apparated. The nineteen-year-old continued to stare. That explained the empty desk opposite her, why some bucktoothed parchment-pusher had come clambering in this morning instead of Clarissa, who usually bore coffee. She did not smile at the stack of work deposited on her desk by Felicia Alexander. Instead, she gave a slight frown.

She was meant to be getting off work at two o'clock, to help Jess Thomas move into her new apartment. That wouldn't be the case unless she could find someone to pick up the slack Felicia had just dished out to her most unassuming clerk, at the worst of times. Barbara sighed, levitating the seven files containing the case study, and began to depart in hopes of locating a reliable source of help. Hell, she'd even ask Fabien Scott would do.

It took her about twenty-five minutes to find someone who would do it, and even then she didn't quite trust them with the job. Nevertheless, it was two o'clock, and she needed to leave.

* * *

Andy Fawcett wasn't terribly clumsy, most of the time. It just so happened that she had been baking a cake, along with Seamy, when a dollop of frosting graced the floor area directly where her next step would be; thus causing the seventh-year to trip, fall flat on her back, and throw the cake right at the person who had just been opening the door. One thing led to another, and Adrian Bell—for that was who had been entering—ended up sprawled on the floor.

'Professor!' Andy cried. (It was well past curfew.) She got to her feet and watched her cake-covered teacher do the same. 'What are you doing here?!'

'It's midnight, Andy; I could ask you the same thing!'

'I—I'm a Prefect. I could be on rounds, you know. Patrolling… and stuff.'

Professor Bell paused halfway through siphoning the cake from his clothing. Wand in hand, he asked, 'are you, though?'

'No,' she admitted.

Seamy arrived then, and handed Professor Bell a dishcloth and some butterbeer. Andy nursed her aching tailbone. 'I won't tell if you won't tell,' she offered.

Adrian chuckled. 'But you have to turn your next essay in on time. And I don't mean "on the day", Andy. I mean "on time".'

'_Sorry_,' she muttered.

He smirked. '"Sorry" indeed.'


	48. Preantepenultimate

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rizzle.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

"**Preantepenultimate"**

**Or**

"**Corner's Denouement".**

* * *

"_Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments._" — William Shakespeare

* * *

**April 7**

* * *

'What the hell is that supposed to mean?!'

A great exclamation shook the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place from their slumbers that Sunday morning.

Mrs. Dorset whose husband was in the accounting business came out into the street and walked around for about five minutes in her dressing gown and a pair of slippers to try and find the source of the noise. On her way, she awoke Benjamin Hillies the plumber, along with his girlfriend Mathilda Getty, and Tim the electrician who lived on the other side of the park.

None of them could locate exactly which townhouse the raucousness had issued from, but a moment later, a very tall young man with messy dark hair came striding down the footpath (apparently he had appeared from nowhere; they had all quite conveniently been looking in the other direction at the time) carrying a copy of an unfamiliar newspaper and seeming quite annoyed in temperament.

'Excuse me, young man,' said Mrs. Dorset with pursed lips, 'do you think it appropriate to be making such loud, vociferous noise on a Sunday morning? Most of us were barely awake, much less preparing for this morning's services.'

(By this, she meant a visit to church, but the messy-haired ruffian probably did not understand that.)

'Oh, yes,' he said quite apologetically, a charming sense of genuine concern coupled by a most winning smile. 'I'm so sorry.'

'An' you think tha's enough? To be wakin' all of us up an' then jus' sayin' "sorry"?' accused Tim the electrician.

'No, of course not,' said the young man. 'You see, I've got this presentation coming up. For... university. And it's very, very important. It's actually a social campaign, on the... human condition. I didn't mean to wake all of you up so early this morning... especially not considering that some of you had... services to attend. Part of the research required use of... vocal projection... I'm so sorry if I disturbed you.'

'Well... you _did_ wake us up,' Benjamin Hillies said.

His girlfriend placed a hand on his chest. 'It's alright, love. I'm sure he didn't mean any harm.' She simpered at the social campaigner. She seemed to like his smile. 'He's just a university kid after all—probably doesn't want to get stuck as a _plumber_...' She turned to Tim. 'Or an _electrician_.' With a look at all of them, she said, 'let's just go back to bed, yeah? Okay, Mrs. Dorset? Not got your knickers in a twist?'

Mrs. Dorset, who seemed like the kind of woman who grumbled a lot, stomped back to her townhouse with something of an indignant air. Tim the electrician departed, and then so did the other two.

The tall dark-haired young man was left standing alone in the square.

Until the air rippled, and another figure appeared.

'That was _hilarious_!' chortled the newly-visible Fred Weasley.

'No, it bloody well wasn't,' snapped his cousin. 'Now give me back my cloak!'

Fred grinned. 'All right, Mr. Social Campaign.' He chucked the Invisibility Cloak back to its owner and said, 'I can't believe Al let you keep that with you.'

James shrugged. 'I only got it back last time I went up there, back in February.'

'That bird thought you were something special,' Fred told him, sensing a need for conversational change. 'Probably would've left her bloke for you if you'd given a rat's arse about her, instead of directing your whole soliloquy to _Mrs. Dorset_.'

James scowled, returning to his place of residence in a mood that was below amicable. 'You were the one who grabbed the bloody cloak!' he exclaimed, hurrying down the corridor that led to the kitchen. 'It's not my fault it's seven o'clock in the morning!'

He wheeled around. Fred stood on the threshold of the room, having followed James inside.

The latter looked at his cousin quizzically. 'Why haven't you gone home yet? It's seven o'clock. Won't Barbs want to see you before work?'

Fred shrugged. 'She's going to see her mum today anyway. Besides, she knows I spent the night with you.'

'I can't imagine she thinks you enjoyed yourself much,' said James, leaning back onto the bench and biting into an apple. He chewed it, partnering the eating with thought. 'When did things get like this for us?'

'What do you mean?'

'We're all _serious_—working, engaged? Where's the fun in that? We're not even twenty yet and we've started to become our parents. Don't you think there's anything wrong with that?'

Fred shrugged. 'I don't think there's anything wrong with it if we're happy. Don't put a negative spin on all this—aren't you living the theoretical "dream"? Professional Quidditch player living in London, all by yourself and _single_?'

James bit his lip. 'I don't know. I guess I don't really think about that much.'

Fred paused. 'That better not be for the reason I think it is,' he warned.

'And what if it's for the exact reason you think it is?' James asked, rolling his eyes.

With a sigh, Fred said, 'then you need a new reason.'

* * *

Lily Potter folded her arms and rolled her eyes at her cousin. 'Lu, you don't get it.'

'Well, actually, yeah—I do.' Lucy spat out the toothpaste she had had in her mouth and wiped any residue away with a hand towel. She addressed Lily through the reflection in the bathroom mirror. 'I understand that Harper or whatever his name is got his arm broken in a duel, or something. I just don't understand why your investigation has to span a week. His arm got fixed in about ten minutes, and then he spent the next few hours sleeping it off. What else is there to it?'

Lily, tying her hair in a ponytail at this point, sighed. 'We can't just walk around letting someone get away with breaking a first-year's arm! Come _on_, Lucy! It's—'

'—why don't you just let Malfoy handle it? _He's_ Head Boy.'

Lily set down her hair, pausing in the process of styling it. She watched Lucy as she spoke.

'...I hate to say it, Lily, but you're not even a prefect.'

She blinked, taken aback. Staring at Lucy, she replied, 'what does it matter, whether or not I'm a prefect? That's just a title; it's not as though you lot are the only ones who can do what's right around here!' The hair-tie fell from Lily's hands onto the floor, where it was forgotten. (It honestly didn't matter in terms of the outcome of humanity.) 'Who cares if I have a badge or not? All I'm trying to do is help bring someone to suffer the consequences of their crimes!'

'Lily,' said Lucy with the kind of patronizing tone one could have attributed to a teenage version of her father, 'you have to learn to _pick_ your battles. This one just isn't as important—'

'—but _why not_, Lucy?' Lily pressed. '_Why_ is it less important?! Because it's a broken arm? A first-year Slytherin? Because _Scorpius_ is curious, too?'

Lucy groaned. '_He's_ curious—you're just starting to seem obsessed. Are you the same Lily who hexed Alana Harris? Who plays Seeker for the Gryffindor team? Is that still you?'

'Why?!' she snapped. 'Why _wouldn't _it be me? Because it's not about revenge or sports?'

Lucy pushed past her, returning to her four-poster to retrieve her cardigan. It was a dull, plain blue. Pretty enough, but nothing extraordinary. Lucy handled it for a moment, but then returned it to the drawer.

'I don't even really think we're talking about the same thing anymore, Lucy.'

Lucy sighed. The idea of arguing with Lily seemed feeble now. The prefect didn't object as she sat down on the edge of the four-poster, just a little way off. Lucy sniffed.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Those were stupid things to say. Especially about you not being a prefect. That doesn't mean anything.'

'Rubbish,' Lily told her, reaching out and taking her hand. 'Being a prefect's really great. It's a big achievement. Both of my brothers were prefects, I'd know.' She moved closer and nudged Lucy with her shoulder. 'Now what's _really_ bothering you, Lu? Because I don't think Milton Harper could have you so upset.'

Lucy giggled. 'No, it's... it's not Harper. I'm just...' She sighed. 'You'll think I'm mental.'

'Oh, I already think you're mental, love.' Lily let go of her cousin's hand to wind an arm around her. 'Now we're just up to sharing.'

Lucy sighed, asking, 'so you _really_ want the truth? You want to know what's been bothering me?'

'Of course I do,' said Lily. 'You're my cousin. I want to help.'

'If you're _sure_...'

'I am. Do your worst.'

'Iwuzjelusofyoubecozitseemsla ikyougiteveryfin.'

Lily raised an eyebrow. 'I'm usually okay with languages, but that kind of confused me.'

'I... I was jealous of you. Because—hear me out—you play Quidditch, and you're stubborn, and it works for you. And you're funny, and pretty smart, and even if you have moments where you're pretty self-centered, you're a good person underneath all that. And guys love you.'

Lily rolled her eyes at the last part, but said, 'you really think that much of me? _Lu!_ You've got to be kidding—that's what's been bothering you? Are you serious? I'm... I'm not half of those things, but _thank you_, Miss All-Os and gentleman-callers-on-every-corner.'

'I don't have gentleman callers.'

Lily smiled, nestling herself into Lucy's shoulder. 'Neither do I.'

* * *

_**April 8**_

* * *

Patricia awoke on her birthday to an entire dormitory filled with décor and gifts. There was only one person who could have done it, and only one person who _would_ have done it, and on this occasion those people were one in the same. Scorpius had written out a card, with two full paragraphs of sentimentality (he'd given up after that), and even though Patricia would probably have accepted that alone and just moved on, her entire bedroom had been filled with roses, tulips, and lilies. Venice and Ruby woke up, only to find themselves forced to wade through countless gifts to get ready for the school day.

'Your bloody boyfriend,' Ruby grumbled, aiming a wrapped bag of chocolates at Patricia's head from the threshold of the bathroom door.

Patricia sighed. 'He's the greatest.'

'Normally,' said Venice, 'if a boyfriend were to do this, he'd be making up for something. But not Scorpius. He just _does_ this sort of thing.'

In the midst of collecting the various streamers that had been placed around her bed, Patricia bit her lip. _Was_ this Scorpius's way of apologizing for something? He usually overcompensated with gifts if they fought back in first, second, third year. But what was there to apologize for now? The way he had acted on his birthday? There was nothing in that. Nothing to apologize for. She forced the thoughts from her mind and instead began to concentrate on getting ready for breakfast.

The shower was hurried, for she was too lazy to venture out to one of the Prefects' ones. Perhaps this evening she would. A nice long bath would be therapeutic from all the stress of late. Yes —one with lots of bubbles, filled to the brim so that the scented, soapy water was almost flooding over the edges. Hopefully the bubbles would smell like peppermint tonight, and the phase of raspberry and orange would be over. The fifth-years used the bathrooms enough for this to be the case. She'd like to remember peppermint.

Peppermint kisses. Patricia found herself smiling.

Kathryn, standing in her pajamas, watched from the doorway. 'Are you done in here? You've been wrapped in a sopping towel for five minutes, doing nothing.'

'Oh—uh... I'll just be a moment. Brush my teeth, get dressed, and whatnot.'

'Just don't take _too_ long,' Kathryn reminded, turning back and moving to close the door. 'I don't want to miss breakfast.'

'I won't make you late,' Patricia assured her. To illustrate her point, she cast a Quick-Dry Charm on her hair, but nothing greeted her apart from the sound of the door being shut.

Staring at herself in the mirror, Patricia wondered what she'd expected. What change she had thought would be evident in her cheeks; the tangible change that eighteen years brought. Nothing had come. Her skin was still pale, not flawless by any standard. She still felt pudgy, standing there in what was now her button-down shirt of choice and accompanying black skirt. Perhaps that was the price of age: increased self-deprecation.

No. She wasn't allowed to feel like this. Not with what Scorpius had done for her today, not with what he'd gone through just months ago. But, surely, if someone had it worse, she was still allowed to be unhappy? No. Not if that person was as close to her as he was. Best friends. _Boyfriend_.

Kathryn, clearly impatient, called through the door, 'you done yet? You can put your robes on out here, you know! You don't need a bathroom for that.'

Patricia gathered her things and bade Kathryn entrance, along with a feigned friendly smile. 'All yours.'

* * *

They sang a jolly round of "happy birthday" in Muggle Studies, and then another in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Truthfully enough, Patricia was sick of the whole affair. It was a most embarrassing ordeal, having that song sung to you. How were you meant to react? She was barely comfortable socially, let alone with any of that going on. By lunchtime, Miss Day was very glad to be done with the whole thing.

'Don't sing,' she begged of Andy as, together, they made their way down to the Great Hall.

'I won't,' said the Hufflepuff. 'But I'd like you to know that Professor Bell singlehandedly ruined my first attempt at your birthday cake, and so the one you'll find sitting in front of you in the Great Hall today won't be as good as it could have been.'

Patricia furrowed her eyebrows. 'Why was Professor Bell there?'

Andy shrugged. 'He said he hadn't been able to sleep so he'd gone to the kitchens. Probably had a nightmare or something. Pansy.'

'Hey!' exclaimed Kevin Corner, who was walking a little behind. (He felt that, being Cordelia's boyfriend, he was warranted to get along with her friends. They tried their best, for Kevin was nice, but he had the strange ability to make something uncomfortable in less than ten seconds, even though he meant well.) 'Bell's cool.'

'Doesn't change the fact that he broke my cake,' said Andy.

Sennen, who met them on the stairs then, asked, 'who's this breaking cakes?'

'Bell,' Patricia replied.

'Oh. That's a surprise.'

'I told you about it this morning,' said Andy, 'didn't I?'

'Oh—_that_ cake. Damn him.'

Scorpius and Albus were walking about ten meters ahead, but slowed down their pace upon reaching the Entrance Hall. Patricia met the Head Boy and the two departed, leaving Andy, Albus, and Sennen standing together.

'Did you tell your boyfriend about Bell's cake-breaking?' asked the latter.

Andy shook her head, as Albus said, 'wow, Bell breaking cakes? That's a surprise. He seems like such a chilled out bloke.'

'Usually would've been.' Andy sniffed. 'In truth, I _did_ slip on a bit of icing and practically throw the thing at him, but it's his fault that he was _there!_'

Albus and Sennen looked at each other, then said simultaneously, 'why am I not surprised?'

Andy rolled her eyes.

* * *

_**April 9**_

* * *

Louis Weasley caught Tabitha Perkins as she left the Charms classroom. He wound an arm around her casually, which led her eyes to widen and a series of blinks to ensue. He didn't blame her; they hadn't spoken for months.

'Hey, Tabitha. How's life?'

'Er... it's... good,' she said slowly. 'Why are you so interested?'

He shrugged. 'I was trying to ease into asking about how terrible Muggle Studies is this year.'

Tabitha smiled. 'It's—it's okay. I'm learning more in-depth about things I'd already heard about.'

'Like what? My family?'

'Pretty much,' she admitted. 'It's a modern history, so it covers the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Binns is kind of excited, I reckon, because he was here for all of it. Then again, you can't tell. He's a dreadful bore,' she told him.

'Why do you think the rest of us left?'

Tabitha laughed. 'I kind of wish I'd joined you.'

* * *

'_Fred!_'

The Weasley in question shot out of bed. 'What—what is it, Barbs?'

He found her squealing in the kitchen, just inside the door. When she clapped eyes on him she grinned and practically jumped into his arms. The change from last week was astounding.

'What's this for, then?' Fred asked, spinning Barbara around in the limited space the room offered. Her hair smelled like green apples.

'I got a promotion!' she cried, dissolving into giggles.

Fred pulled out of the hug to get a good look at her. 'What?! Today?'

Barbara nodded. 'Felicia finished the briefing about five minutes ago! I'm not an intern anymore—I've actually got a title! She wants me to work more cases, and not just assist on them. Felicia's saying one project a week, with twice the pay, as an Assistant Quidditch Affairs Coordinator!'

'An AQAC?' Fred asked, scrunching up his nose.

Barbara laughed, throwing her head back; her arms remained around her boyfriend, who she slapped jokingly on the chest. 'Technically, I'm an Assistant _Athletic_ Affairs Coordinator—an AAAC—' (She laughed, and she was lovely.) '—but the only "athletics" that really concerns the wizarding world is Quidditch, so yeah! I'm an AQAC!'

The two of them smiled.

'Isn't it _wonderful_?' Barbara pressed, evidently rather excited about her new job. She had really gone into that department in the first place so that she could work in Quidditch without actually playing it. She watched Fred's eyes, but they were not on hers.

'Yes,' he said, leaning in and kissing her quickly. 'It's great.'

After another kiss, Fred added, 'We could go out and celebrate, if you like.'

Barbara smiled, holding him closer. 'I don't know, I'm feeling more like a night in.'

'That works for me,' he said.

'Great.'

And then they kissed again.

* * *

_**April 10**_

* * *

Lily Potter raced around the halls of the school, Marauder's Map in hand. The dot that accompanied the name _Scorpius Malfoy_ was traveling steadily down one of the corridors on the fourth floor. Her feet hurt slightly, but the running was worth it. Lily hurled herself onto one of the staircases, but it disconnected itself from the opposite side, lengthening magically and carrying her to a higher point parallel to where she had already been.

'Oh, _come on!_' she snapped, swearing.

Her eyes flickered down to the Marauder's Map. Scorpius had taken a completely different direction; somehow, in the two minutes she hadn't been observing the map, he had found his way to Gryffindor Tower.

'You have _got _to be kidding me!' Lily said very angrily. 'This is the _last_ of my needs right now.'

* * *

Albus looked surprised. 'Lily?' he repeated. 'I don't think she's here.'

'What?' Scorpius demanded. 'Where is she?'

'Why're you looking for my sister?' Albus asked slowly. 'What's so urgent?'

Scorpius sighed. He leaned against the wall of the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room. (He hadn't forced entry.) 'Remember that kid, almost two weeks ago? Lily found him with a broken arm, we didn't know who'd done it... _right_?'

Albus nodded vaguely.

'I just found out who did.'

'And you want to tell Lily about it,' he gathered.

'Yes,' Scorpius said, wondering why Albus was giving him such a look. 'Why're you...?'

'Since when are you on first-name basis with my sister? I didn't think you two even talked.'

As if to prove the point, there was a shout of, 'Scorpius! Al!' and both seventh-years turned to find the sister in question striding towards them, one hand grasping parchment and the other, a fist. She was breathing heavily, like she had just been running, and before even moving to address her brother more elaborately, Lily said, 'Sorry to interrupt your little love fest, but Scorpius, listen—I know who broke Milton Harper's arm.'

Scorpius raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly. 'So do I.'

Lily's eyes widened. 'God, couldn't I triumph _once_?'

He laughed but the mood quickly turned serious. 'Fourth-years.'

'Alan Tanner, Barnaby Prince, Eli Wilson,' Lily listed.

'Is that Al's map?' Scorpius asked, pointing at the Marauder's Map without breaking Lily's gaze.

'Yeah,' she said, looking down and unfolding it. 'I would've got them to Sprout right now if I hadn't had to trek around the whole school trying to find _you_.'

For this, the Head Boy gave a casual apology. He turned to Albus, as though remembering for the first time that his best friend was also in attendance. 'Want to come with us, Al?'

Accompanied by another wary glance, Albus said, 'sure. Why not?'

* * *

_**April 11**_

* * *

Cordelia Gilbert had been in a relationship with Kevin Corner for approximately six weeks, if you did not count the date to Hogsmeade and weeks of tentativeness in between. Cordelia did not like to reflect on that date to Hogsmeade very often, though it plagued her thoughts on more frequent an occasion than she ever led anyone to believe. One part of it, in particular—one period of, say, twenty minutes, that she could never in her waking hours escape (though when asleep the alternative was no better)—came to mind. She hadn't told anyone about it. She _did_ think about it far too often, though. There was no denying that.

On Thursday evening, she was in the Heads' Office, writing up a report for the upcoming week's events. There was a knock at the door. Kevin's head poked in.

'Hey!' Cordelia said brightly, pushing the previous (very James-related) thoughts out of her head. She set down her quill and stood, walking across the room to greet her boyfriend, who closed the door behind him. 'You look nice.'

Kevin smiled. 'So do you.'

'So, why'd you visit? Some important prefect work to do, or...?'

'Or did I just come over here to see you?' Kevin guessed.

Cordelia nodded. 'Because I wouldn't exactly be _disappointed_.'

He laughed, reaching out to take her hands with his. When he had done so, he kissed her.

'What was that for?' Cordelia asked, smiling fading.

'Did I have to have a reason?'

'No,' she replied, 'but something in that felt like a goodbye. Please tell me otherwise.'

Kevin's smile faded from his face then, too.

'I have something I need to say to you.'

Cordelia, who knew where this was going, stared at him. 'No. No, Kevin, please—'

'—Just hear me out,' he said. 'Okay? Just listen to what I have to say.'

She took a step back, wondering how she could listen when she already knew what terrible event was coming. Suddenly, everything felt wrong; she felt tired and upset and everything at once, and somehow she was on the verge of tears and wasn't simultaneously. But Cordelia sighed and let Kevin continue.

'I love you,' he said. 'And I've loved you for a while, and I know that's hard to believe. But it's true.' He paused. 'And it's because I love you that I have to do this. I'm so sorry...'

'Kevin, don't...'

'I'm doing this for you,' he told her, 'because of the whole "if you love something, let it go" thing. I love you, but you don't love me. Not really.'

_What was he talking about? _'How could you say that?'

'Because it's true,' Kevin said plainly. He shrugged, but not because this didn't matter. It mattered enormously, to both of them. 'You still care about James. I don't know how much, but whatever that was between you, it doesn't seem to be over.'

Cordelia's mouth fell open. 'Are you _kidding_ me? I don't—I don't feel _anything_ for—for him—that—that relationship _ended_—almost ten months ago! Why doesn't anyone seem to remember?!'

'Ten months ago or not, people wouldn't still be talking about it if it's really over.'

Both voices sounded so close to breaking.

Kevin swallowed. 'I can't... I can't stand _feeling_ like this, Cordelia. I can't be a placeholder.'

Her eyes welled up with tears; even she didn't understand it herself. 'You're... you're not.'

'I _am_, though! I'm a placeholder until James Potter comes back into your life! Don't try to tell me otherwise!'

Cordelia wiped her eyes, covering her face with her hands. She wasn't crying—not yet, at any rate—but the stress of this whole situation, the _confrontation_ of it, had left her rather overwhelmed. She _didn't_ still love James. Kevin _wasn't_ just a placeholder—he was her _boyfriend_. James didn't _matter_.

She removed her hands from her face and exhaled heavily. 'I...'

'You might not be aware of it, but I am. Everyone else is. That's why I have to end this. Not because I don't love you.'

Cordelia looked up at him, meeting his eye. 'I...' She just began to shake her head.

'I've been hoping you'd say something about changing. But you shouldn't have to. Anyway, why try to change something that isn't going to get fixed?'

'Because it _means_ something to you?' Cordelia suggested.

'If it's something that means a lot, to everyone involved,' Kevin said, 'it shouldn't need fixing.'


	49. Antepenultimate

**Disclaimer**: Jo Ro Fo Sho.

**AN**: And so the countdown begins, because after this chapter, there are only two left. (Plus the epilogue, of course.) I also dedicate this chapter to Richard Griffiths, who so perfectly gave us a visual representation of Vernon Dursley. He passed away on March 29th, and he will be missed.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

"**Antepenultimate"**

**Or**

"**Sour Patch and Punch-line".**

* * *

"_Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold."_ — William Shakespeare

* * *

_**April 12**_

* * *

Shelley Corner gave an empathetic sigh. 'I'm sorry,' she said, through the gauze curtains of the four-poster. Cordelia, who had entered the other girl's dormitory with quite different intentions, paused. She watched the shadowed silhouette push back the layers of material separating her from being properly seen, until the actual image of Shelley appeared.

'What are you apologizing for?' asked the Head Girl, who in truth had a very good idea of what her peer was going to say. She didn't want to hear any of it.

'My bloody cousin,' said Shelley.

Cordelia, whose heart hammered, said nothing at first. Then, after a moment, she (in a very tight voice) told Shelley, 'I don't... he has nothing to apologize for. It was me.'

Shelley, who was actually dressed despite the fact that she had been sitting under her sheets for fifteen minutes, stared at Cordelia with something like incredulousness. She stood, brushing off any stray pieces of fluff or threads from the blankets, and said, 'you're joking, right?'

Cordelia shook her head. 'It's my fault. I've just got to live with it.' A second later, she added, 'I don't know _what_ I was thinking—hoping that relationship would work out. Everyone seems to think I'm still James Potter's property, anyway.'

'Whoa, whoa—who said that?'

The Head Girl raised her eyebrows. 'Who _hasn't_ been saying it? Behind my back, even when I'm _around_?' She sighed. 'Can't I escape that boy for one _day_?'

Shelley put her arms around Cordelia, and she was surprised that the taller girl allowed them to stay there. 'It's okay, babe. It's okay.'

She felt Cordelia's head shake against her shoulder. 'No... I don't think it is. I just... I spent so much time _pining_ over him. Trying desperately to cling onto whatever it was that ended in July. Even when he got a girlfriend—I told myself not to care, be... because I was hurt, and he'd—he'd moved on. Then I saw him at—at _Christmas_, and it's just... Merlin, it didn't even end _there_!'

Shelley pulled away from Cordelia, both hands grasping her shoulders. 'What... what does that mean, Cordelia?'

Cordelia sighed heavily. 'Can... can I tell you a secret?' She closed her eyes, face scrunching up. 'It's—it's so _shameful_, and you... you'll probably hate me. I never told _Kevin_, be-because I didn't... want to... I just—I—'

Genuinely concerned, Shelley shushed her. 'Cordelia... Cordelia, _honey_; what could be so shameful? What's _wrong_?'

She sniffled. 'Remember that t-time Kevin asked me to Hogsmeade? That first weekend?'

Surprised, wondering what direction this could possibly be taking, Shelley reacted with nothing but a nod. Cordelia's breathing picked up again, and soon each inhalation was a heave. Then, just as Shelley was about to do something to try and help her, the Head Girl silenced herself and became collected.

'I... what is wrong with me? I just...' Cordelia shook her head. 'I actually saw James there. And we—we talked. And... in the end—oh, Shelley, please don't hate me; I didn't mean for it to happen, I promise—'

'—just tell me what _happened_,' Shelley pressed. 'I feel like it's important.'

'Okay,' said Cordelia (more to herself than to her roommate-come-friend), 'it's not like any of it was my fault, anyway. Just buck up and do it.' She looked Shelley in the eye. 'James kissed me.'

The colour drained from Shelley's face. Her jaw slacked, and her eyes widened. She pursed her lips. 'Who does that _arsehole_ think he is?' Cordelia moved to say something but Shelley cut across her. 'He breaks up with you, shows up months later _when he has a girlfriend_—then kisses you?! I _knew_ he was in Hogsmeade that weekend—and I _knew_ their joke shop wasn't why! How could he do that?! That _bastard_! To _my_ bloody cousin, as well! Poor bloke finally gets up the courage to... forget this,' she said, suddenly on a new course.

Cordelia looked on as Shelley began her lecture.

'This is over,' she told Cordelia flatly. 'First, you and Kevin—I hate to say it, but you are. And second, James. Either you tell him, or I will, next time that joker comes sniffing around. Because he's ruined my cousin's relationship, and now he's actually started to ruin your life. I used to think he and I would be golden, but now...'

She chuckled bitterly. 'No. That bloke stays _away_ from this. He stays away from this school, and he stays away from you. And any other time he tries to mess up things—for my cousin, or otherwise—I will take that _self-important_ prick down a peg. And that's that.'

* * *

You could have heard a pin drop. The entire Potions class stood still. Professor Slughorn had stopped speaking entirely, fading off after "and then Granger..." and continuing to marvel with them not at the great feat of his ceased words but at the crack in the wall that had opened right before their eyes, and the creature that had begun to enter the dungeon through it.

Hugo's breathing both increased and stopped at the same time, if such a thing were possible. The acromantula's first four legs were long and hairy, black like a dog's but by no means mistakable. Lucy looked over at him quickly, glimpsing a chalky white face and eyes wide open.

'P-Professor,' she choked.

Slughorn did not move. He was behind the students, for his desk was far from the appearing arachnid, and could do very little. Lily, who had been sitting at the back of the class with her assigned partner Martha Bones (a Hufflepuff), found the lack of support from her teacher to be quite bollocks, and she muttered this. Martha squeaked.

'Look,' Lily called a little louder, not taking her eyes off the acromantula. Its advances had slowed slightly. 'I could hit it, with a spell. Jinx it or something—keep it submissive, blast it to smithereens, whatever you prefer. But I'd have one shot. Professor Slughorn?'

The old man made a few stammering sounds. 'I—yes, Lily. Just be careful about it. D-don't kill it... that venom is valuable.'

'I'm fifteen,' said Lily, 'why would I want to use an Unforgivable _now_?' She coughed. 'Wrong time.' Her eyes remained on the spider. 'Lucy! What hex would work best?'

'T-to retain it? Or to get rid of it?'

'What can I _do_?!'

'I...' Lucy's lip quivered. 'I—petrify it. _Petrify it!_ Professor Slughorn doesn't want it obliterated—!'

Six of the acromantulas legs had now made it through the crack. It was forcing the opening to widen, in order for it to accommodate for the spider's body. Several girls—and a few of their male classmates—screamed.

Lily's wand was pointed at the acromantula. She had a clear shot to its abdomen.

She could do it, she _could_...

A seventh leg forced itself through.

'Lily, what are you _waiting for?!_' screeched Alana Harris.

Lily Potter could hex other _students_; she could fly _circles_ around them—she could petrify a spider. Even if its legs _were_ about two feet long. She _could_.

'Lily!' echoed Hugo's voice.

'Lily—please!'

There was a scream, so loud it drowned out Lily's cry of '_Petrificus totalus!_'.

For a moment, everything stood still. And then it all happened at once.

The spider careened over; off the wall to where it hung, limp, suspended out of the crack by its last, eighth appendage. Jeremy Peakes leapt forward and pulled Lily away, and the two of them went tumbling back, knocking over one of the Hufflepuff students' cauldrons. Half of the ceiling began excreting dust. Everyone knew what was coming, and so they backed up—backed up and ran.

The petrified acromantula fell when the stone did, but instead of dashing away from it like his students had, Professor Slughorn hurried forward to make sure no harm had come to the beast. It did not escape from Lily's enchantments, and the professor cast another layer of them, even with slabs of marble and other rock dropping from the ceiling.

Hugo grabbed his two cousins. 'Oh—oh, _Merlin_—are —are you two okay? What—I just—'

Lucy and Lily were just as pale as he. The former managed to nod while Lily descended to the floor, tucking up with her head in her hands. She began to breathe very heavily; more so than the others. (This was understandable.)

'You're all... fine, right?' Alana Harris asked hesitantly.

None of them had the energy to glare at her.

A group of Slytherins, whose common room was also in the dungeons, had evidently heard the commotion. Six of them approached now, with Scorpius Malfoy at the head. Professor Slughorn emerged from his classroom, coughing.

'What's going on?' Patricia Day demanded. 'What happened?'

Dylan McCormick, another of the Slytherins, swatted at Martha Bones's shoulder. 'Oi—what was that?!'

'A-a-acromantula!' she croaked. 'Big! So big!'

While Patricia interrogated their head of house and Dylan the first fifth-year he found, Venice Higgs had also begun to question some Hufflepuffs. The pair of boys knew very little, and said just as much. 'It—Lily Potter—she petrified—it—she-petrified-it!'

Scorpius and Patricia wheeled around at the mention of "Potter", and the former swept to Venice's side in a heartbeat. 'Lily did what?'

'Petrified the acromantula,' said Venice, reiterating so that the Hufflepuffs did not have to.

Patricia's mouth fell open. (She had heard what was going on and followed her boyfriend.) 'Lily—? She _petrified an acromantula_?!' She exhaled, shocked. 'Is there anything that family _can't_ do?!'

Scorpius seemed to have spotted a trio of almost-redheads and made a brisk journey of closing the distance between them and himself. 'Hugo,' he said, sparing a quick smile, 'Lucy.'

The attention he paid them was, to put it bluntly, minimal. Instead, he turned to the fifth-year hunched over herself, knees pulled up to her chest on the marble floor. By this time, her face had left the comfort of her hands; she knew whose voice had greeted her company.

'Lily?'

She used the raising of her eyebrows as a response. _Yes?_

'No offence,' said the Head Boy, extending a hand to pull her up off the floor, 'but you look like death.'

Lily gave a half-hearted chuckle and stood.

Hugo raised his eyebrows. 'She _did_ just petrify an acromantula, you know.'

Scorpius shrugged. 'Sounds like a pretty Potterish thing to do.'

'You're not sneering,' Lucy noticed.

'You're also insinuating that Weasleys wouldn't be brave enough to do something as rash as what just happened in there,' said Lily, crossing her arms.

'I don't know much about them,' said Scorpius. 'Well, apart from my best friend being a half one.'

'A half petrified spider?'

'A _Weasley_.' He then added to Lily, 'but _look_. You're not upset anymore.' (Then, as he turned to leave:) 'And that was a pretty damn amazing thing to do. Congrats.' He winked. 'From the little I've heard, you kicked that spider's arse.'

* * *

'You're—_no!_' Andy pushed past her little sister to reach her boyfriend as he crossed the Entrance Hall. She reached out and grabbed him. 'Hey—is it true? About what happened this morning?'

Albus arched an eyebrow. 'What... what happened this morning?'

'Have you seen Patricia or Scorpius?' Andy asked, hands on her hips.

He shook his head.

Andy, incredulous, sighed. Albus looked at her with wide eyes, and this made the Hufflepuff's mouth fall open. 'You—you seriously don't _know_?'

'Don't know what? What's going on?'

She bit her lip, unsure if it was her place to notify him of the events that had played out. Thankfully, some other students were making their way to the Great Hall. Among this number was Albus's cousin, Rose. Andy needn't have called out to her, because the redhead strode right over and began to speak at a very rapid pace.

'Al, I don't know if you know this, but this morning, during Hugo's Potions class, there was an incident with an acromantula. It somehow got in—I don't know the details exactly—but something happened and Lily ended up having to petrify it or something like that and half the dungeon caved in and—heavens—I don't know!'

His green eyes round, Albus stammered, 'what the hell—?—I—Is there something wrong with...? Why is my sister getting involved in everything these... _what?!_'

Andy shrugged. 'At least everybody's okay...' Rose and Albus looked at her, identical expressions on their faces. 'I—well, no—but you get what I mean. No one's dead. No one's even _hurt_. And don't look at me like that! I know that this is a big deal, I'm just...' She sighed. 'I'm just trying to calm you down. Forgive me. I'm going to go and eat lunch.'

She walked off, leaving Albus and Rose standing there and wondering what had happened.

'An _acromantula_?' Albus reiterated.

Rose nodded. 'It's been taken care of.'

* * *

'Okay, you're keeping something from me.'

Hugo's eyebrows furrowed. Their conversation had moved, upon his wishes, to a topic that was not that morning's Acromantula encounter. Unfortunately, the new focus was probably not going to be any more enjoyable.

Gabbie watched him from the other side of the library table. They had been spending extended periods of time there as Hugo's O.W.L.s approached. He dismissed her accusation. 'Am not.'

'Are too,' Gabbie said, moving around the table to sit beside him and stare very intently, as though such a thing would torture a confession out of him. 'I can tell. You're caged.'

'"Caged"?' he repeated. 'What does that even mean?'

She shook her head. 'Stop trying to distract me. There's something going on.' There was a pause, in which Hugo said nothing and Gabbie continued to stare. What was previously a smile on her face began to deteriorate. 'Oh no. You've got that look on your face. It's about me, isn't it?' She raised an eyebrow. 'Is it Matthew?' came next. 'Do you... not like him or something?'

Hugo coughed. 'No —I—Matthew's nice. He's nice. He is.'

'"Nice".' Gabbie's eyes passed over his face, searching for some detail that would give away a greater meaning. 'Huh. I think we both know from experience that "nice" doesn't constitute... well, anything other than nice. Isn't it what you say when you can't think of anything else?'

'You're eager to insult your boyfriend.'

'He's not my boyfriend,' she said. 'Why would you think he was my boyfriend?'

Hugo swallowed. 'He took you to Hogsmeade. He never stops talking about you.'

Gabbie gave no reaction.

'And I certainly won't be telling him that you aren't blushing right now.' Hugo looked at her. 'Come on, what's wrong with him?'

'Nothing,' said the Ravenclaw dismissively. 'Nothing's _wrong_ with him. He's fine. He's...'

'...Nice.'

'Yeah. I just... we don't really know each other. I'd rather be with someone I know.' She scoffed. 'Listen to me. I'm fourteen. What am I even saying? It's not as though I've got any experience. You think I'm stupid.'

Hugo shook his head. 'I'm only a year above you,' he told her, 'don't look at me like I'm not stuck in the Fred boat.'

'The "Fred boat"?'

'Fred fancied Barbara for ages but they were just friends,' he explained.

'And now they're engaged.' Gabbie shrugged. 'I'd say that's a pretty good boat.'

'I don't know. If you're willing to hang in for the long haul, I guess.'

'What's wrong with the long haul?'

'Nothing,' said Hugo quickly. 'Nothing's _wrong_ with it...'

'That sounds familiar.'

He looked at her. 'Are you arguing my case or yours?'

'Matthew's not the same.' Gabbie began shuffling through her books, looking for something in particular. Hugo wondered if this was just a good diversionary technique. 'We're not friends.'

'Then what are you?'

The leafing through pages continued. 'I don't know. I don't really...' She gave up. 'I guess I'm in the Fred boat, too.'

Though Hugo thought this highly unlikely, he grinned. 'You and me.' To emphasize the gesture, he put an arm around her. 'Who'd have guessed we'd find ourselves in the same boat?'

'It had better be a stable boat,' she said, grinning back. 'So is the Fred boat a legitimate boat? Is it a dinghy, or a proper _ship_?'

'I don't know.' (In truth, he had never really thought about it.)

Gabbie sighed. (This made Hugo wonder if he should have.) 'Let's just hope it's big enough for two.'

* * *

At half past five, the Gryffindor Quidditch team's practice was adjourned, and everyone left the pitch wondering what was about to strike. Nothing was up to scratch. Hugo had arrived late—'it doesn't _matter_ how "slightly",' Roxanne had said—and Jeremy Peakes had been hazy on Bludgers. Albus had almost been hit by said Bludgers, and Lily seemed to be feeling off, which made her more frustrated than anyone else. In short: the team felt as though they were failing, all for different reasons.

As soon as they all reached the locker room, Roxanne rounded on them.

'Look,' she said, 'I know I'm not the captain—and today's been one hell of a day for some of us—but I have to say something.'

Al motioned for her to go ahead.

'Thanks. There's something wrong with us; with this team. I've played for Gryffindor since I was twelve, and we've always had to be in top shape for our games against Ravenclaw. We've _had to_. And we always have been. This year, I'm not so sure.'

'You had James and Fred those other years,' Jeremy Peakes muttered.

'I frankly don't care who we had those other years, relatives or not. We were all focused. Everyone wanted to do their best for this team, because we all wanted to win. Yes, we won the House Cup last year, and have done so for quite a few, but do you _really_ want to put that all at risk? Do you want to know the current standing?'

She stared around at them all, daring them to challenge her.

'We're in _third_. _Third!_ Only Hufflepuff's behind us—and they've won how many times? Six? Years ago? Do you want_ Slytherin_ to take the Cup—Ravenclaw, even? The difference between their scores isn't that great; they could do it!' Roxanne groaned. 'I am _not_ sitting here and being part of the first Gryffindor team to come _third_ in at least twenty years. Just because Fred and Barbara and James and Chris have gone doesn't mean we've lost our chance! And don't any of you _dare_ to tell me otherwise!'

Lily raised her eyebrows. 'Roxanne—we're sixty points behind Ravenclaw. One hundred and fifty behind Slytherin. We can _do _this—those points are Snitch captures. If _I _catch the Snitch—'

'—"if"?' Roxanne interjected.

'_If_,' Hugo repeated.

Lily sighed. 'Look, I know Ravenclaw's not going to be an easy game. They never have been. I'm saying, if we play our best, we can win. We _can!_'

'If Hugo does his job well enough—' began Davey Patil, one of the Chasers.

'I will,' said Hugo. 'I'm not letting them catch up to Slytherin, let alone us.'

'We've been talking,' Albus explained. 'We know how they play. Besides, their team isn't really in the best place _emotionally_. I hate to use it against them, but with the events of late... their Chasers won't be at their peak, I'll say that. Hugo can handle it. We've got their tactics sorted.'

Roxanne bit her lip. 'We're battling the scoreboard.'

'Well,' murmured Hugo, 'if one thing's for certain... it'll come down to Lily and Gabbie.'

* * *

'You're right,' said James Potter, setting down the firewhiskey with a motion that seemed definitive.

Fred Weasley, to his immediate left at the kitchen table, had raised eyebrows. 'Right about what?'

'I need to move on.'

'It's about time,' he admitted. 'You've spent the better half of a year half-obsessed with that girl. You almost stopped being _you_ for a while.'

James grinned. 'Sappy? Over-emotional? Boring?' He scrunched up his nose. 'Nah, I'm done with that stuff. Cordelia's... well, she's definitely something special, but that doesn't mean she has to be _my_ something special, right? If we were meant to be together, we would be.'

Fred nodded fervently.

'And it's not like _she's_ clinging on,' James added. 'Boyfriend and everything.'

At this time, his cousin wondered if, perhaps, the fact that Al had Floo'd him earlier that evening and said that this was not the case, and to tell Barbara, should have been disclosed. But "tell Barbara" didn't mean the same thing as "tell James". Barbara and Cordelia were friends; that was understandable. _And it could just send him back into a destructive spiral_, Fred told himself. _That's the last thing he needs._

Keeping this under wraps, Fred chose to nod once more. 'Exactly.' He took another drink. 'There are plenty of girls out there for you. In fact, you could be single for a while, if you like. I'd respect you either way. Your choice.'

Just then, there was the popping sound of Apparition, and Molly appeared. Barbara followed a second later. (Fred was pleased about this; not just because of his fiancée but also because he feared he may have gone too far in assuring James that getting over Cordelia was the right thing to do.)

'Barbs,' he said pleasantly, wrapping an arm around her waist as she came to stand beside his seat, 'did you get my owl?'

She looked down at him, aware of the company they kept. 'Yeah. We'll talk about it later. Unless you've already...' A cursory glance at James proved he had not. The subject was dropped, and instead Barbara continued with an address to the Montrose Magpie: 'What's got you looking so buzzed, then?'

He shrugged, taking another swig of firewhiskey. 'I'm a free man. Loving someone who's never going to love you back—not again—is a lonely business. And not a very profitable one. So I've decided to switch fields, if you get me.' James began to sing, '_you say high_; _I say low_... _you say why_, _and I say_ _I don't know_...'

'Do you not listen to any bands other than the Beatles?' asked Molly, who was quite tired of the whole thing.

James shrugged. 'I do, but they're not as fun.'

* * *

_**April 13**_

* * *

'Rose Weasley, you are a dream.'

The seventh-year in question gave back a half-hearted eye roll. She unfolded her legs and turned around in the library chair, unsure of what it was that he needed. What would have, one year ago, been a glare, was instead a look of begrudging curiosity. Why was he suddenly speaking to her now, after months of purposely not crossing paths?

'What could the Head Boy want from me?'

Scorpius, sighing, told her, 'nothing you would've expected eighteen months ago.'

* * *

'Scorpius went to the library,' said Louis. 'Apparently searching for Rose.'

Patricia furrowed her eyebrows. 'Why would that be?'

(She did not feel threatened. Not remotely. Whatever had or had not occurred between Scorpius and Rose was long over; both had almost forgotten it. Nobody addressed it, and the entire thing felt like a folktale, a myth. A myth in which Patricia had behaved most inappropriately. Still, she was confused. Why had he sought Rose's company, when the rest of them were waiting in the Room of Requirement for a "meeting" that _he_ himself had called?)

Albus and Andy, who were sitting across the room on another couch, shrugged; they then proceeded to continue their game of wizard's chess, which both seemed to be rather engrossed in. Ruby was leafing through a copy of the _Daily Prophet_, but found nothing of interest. She looked up at her friends disdainfully (though, to have it said, this disdain was not to be angled at them).

'I hate to be the first to leave, given the fact I'm probably going to miss out on a hell of a get-together later, but there's nothing happening here that wouldn't be happening in the common room, so I might just...'

'Hey,' said Louis, 'this place offers much less probability of meeting an acromantula.'

This did not persuade Ruby, and she departed soon after that.

* * *

'I'm not following...' said Rose, narrowing her dark brown eyes. She motioned for Scorpius to sit. 'Don't you know that I'm the least adept person to be asking about that right now?'

The Head Boy, who—at her invitation—had taken a seat, shook his head. 'I think you're the perfect person to ask.'

'What have you got against me?' she pressed.

'Nothing,' he said, raising his hands in defence. 'I'm not doing this because I hate you, Rose.'

'Then why are you asking _me_? Why not Al, Patricia, Cordelia?'

* * *

Albus's bishop knocked Andy's rook from the chessboard and he shouted out in celebration. She shoved him with such force that he almost cleared the couch; coming very close to taking her down with him, too. Louis looked at Patricia, who was humming a tune.

'You're bored by this, aren't you?'

She shrugged. 'There's something delicate in it.'

'"Delicate"?' Louis replied. 'How so?'

'This feels like the calm period,' she said. 'The calm before the storm.'

'What kind of storm are we talking about?'

Patricia turned to him and asked quietly, 'what kind of storm do you _think_?'

* * *

'Will you help me?' Scorpius pressed. 'That's the important thing. Especially given the events of late.'

Rose straightened out her robes, clearing her throat. 'Yes. If that's what needs to be done, then I'll make sure my half of the deal is kept.'

He half-smiled, handing her a key. 'I assume you know what this is for.'

'Of course,' she replied. 'If things had gone my way, I would've had my own.'

Ignoring this (because he assumed that was the better thing to do), Scorpius stood. 'I'll take tonight, Monday, and Wednesday, to start off with. You should work—'

'—tomorrow, Tuesday, and Thursday. Got it.'

* * *

_**April 14**_

* * *

(_10:00am_)

Lucy Weasley was wearing a pair of flat navy blue shoes, the kind that did not make a show of themselves. Her hair was lightly curled today, accompanying the yellow floral-print summer dress she had chosen. She was saved from the cold by a cardigan that matched her shoes, and from looking quite square-shaped by a thin red belt Lily had insisted she wrap around her waist. Lucy herself did not see the importance of pretending to have some kind of curvature, for she had always been naturally scrawny and slightly too tall, but she was in too good a mood that Sunday to have it sullied by some trivial plight like whether or not she wore a belt.

It seemed, at first, like the kind of day where very little could go wrong. The traumatic experience Friday had dealt her was enough for one week of torment, and so she headed down to watch the Gryffindor Quidditch team have a practice with the utmost intent of keeping the day as tranquil as possible. This would later prove a redundant point, for Hogwarts was never very easily kept "calm" or "tranquil" (as this was the word Lucy chose) by any means.

In fact, before dusk had struck that evening, there would have been exactly two fights, four teary second-years, and one blow to the jaw administered by the Head Boy.

(But we'll get to that a bit later.)

'Hello, Lucy,' said Martha Bones, who was walking back into the castle by herself.

'Hi, Martha,' Lucy replied.

'I love your dress,' she said with a bright smile.

Lucy, very grateful for the compliment, thanked her. She continued down the way to the Quidditch pitch, but halfway encountered Barnaby Prince, who was being forced—along with his cohorts—to serve three weeks' detention for his cruelty to Milton Harper. Barnaby was a loud, big, spotty Ravenclaw; the kind who bragged too much.

He did not bother to greet her. 'How about you tell your cousin to stop trying to play the hero all the time? It's rather unhelpful, and very annoying.'

Lucy was not often known for her retorts, but in that moment snapped, 'maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to break some eleven-year-old's arm!' She glared at him, even though he was almost a foot taller than she. 'And forget about making Prefect next year. You're vulgar, and pathetic, and you talk _far_ too unkindly about people who don't deserve it in the least.'

Barnaby rolled his eyes. 'All I'm saying is Malfoy needn't have double-teamed on the investigation. Not that there _was_ one to begin with.'

Lucy raised her eyebrows, hoping that she looked as harsh as Molly did when doing the same thing. 'Look, I don't give a rat's arse about what you think _Malfoy_ should have done. Don't hurt people, and _don't_ insult my family.'

Fortunately, Barnaby stomped off before the entire thing evolved into an altercation—well, not much could be said for what occurred later that day—and Lucy exhaled in relief. He may have been a year younger, but he could have been seventy-two and she wouldn't have wanted to raise her wand against Barnaby Prince. Not against anyone, for that matter.

(_12:10pm_)

'Whoa,' said Lily, watching Lucy's face fall. She—the Quidditch player—had just come from practice, and was accompanying her cousin back to the castle, re-tying her hair in the process. 'What's wrong? I saw that look.'

Though she initially contemplated making up an answer, Lucy replied with the truth. Sort of. 'Has anyone been giving you a hard time? You know, for putting Prince and the others in detention?'

Lily shrugged. 'I guess. But whiplash was always going to come, wasn't it? They weren't Slytherins, so they weren't what people were expecting. Not that there's any connotation against them these days. But it's not like they can take their frustrations out on Scorpius. Shoot—they probably think he'd castrate them. I'm meant to be an easy target. I'm a girl, aren't I?'

'A girl, you may be,' said Lucy, 'but I wouldn't for one second think you were an "easy target".'

'You know what I mean. I've told myself not to retaliate. They're not worth it.'

Lucy bit her lip. 'I guess.'

(_02:40pm_)

'Hey, Potter. I talked to your cousin earlier. Does she fight your battles for you? Do you just get involved after and mess everything up?'

Lily rolled her eyes. She had been, in truth, expecting this. She did not plan to do Eli Wilson the honour of responding. Instead, she continued to look straight ahead, and began across the Entrance Hall, hoping to deter him.

'Wow, no witty retort? I'm surprised.'

She glared. 'Stop being an idiot.'

'Oh, _I'm_ being an idiot, am I?' Eli smirked. (It didn't work for him.) 'I'm not the one who put three fourteen-year-olds in detention. _I'm_ not a spineless snitch.'

A new voice joined them then, with: 'Oh, that explains it. If you were, we'd have caught you a _lot_ sooner.'

Eli's mouth fell open at the Slytherin Seeker's sudden appearance. 'Malfoy?' he blundered. With a cough, he collected himself. 'Just—just stay out of it.'

'Why?' said Scorpius, moving forward, closer to the two of them. 'You picked a fight with Lily; and she's—what—five foot three?' His eyes returned to Eli. 'You're angry at her for the same reason you're angry at me. If you're trying to make things easier for yourself, you really _are_ an idiot.'

Clearly out of witty rejoinders, the fourth-year snapped, 'why are you even here, Malfoy?'

'Late lunch, I suppose.' The Head Boy shrugged. 'Got a bit peckish.'

Lily looked at him. She—who had previously decided to stay out of the fight—muttered, 'Scorpius, what are you doing?'

'Being a good person,' he muttered back.

'What are you going to do?' she asked, exasperated. '_Fight_ them?'

'If it comes to that,' he said casually.

'You're kidding.'

'I'm not.'

'If you two are done,' interjected the newly-appeared Alan Tanner. He was the third of the party of Ravenclaws; the only one who was yet to accost someone. 'We want to administer some justice.'

'What justice is there?' Scorpius pressed. 'You hurt an eleven-year-old. Honestly, what _are_ the traits of a Ravenclaw these days? "Wit" has_ clearly_ been traded in—'

'Our fight's not _with_ you!' Eli cried. 'Just let us deal with Potter, and go get your food.'

'Yeah,' said Alan, 'we've got business with her.'

'Or we _will_,' Eli added. 'It could get quite entertaining.'

Lily, who had been quite flattered upon learning that Lucy had stood up for her earlier in the day, found herself in complete and utter shock when—at that moment—Scorpius decided to one-up her cousin...

...and punch Eli Wilson across the jaw.


	50. Penultimate

**Disclaimer:** Rowling? We're a bit deep in now.

**AN:** I enjoyed the idea of a dedication in the previous chapter, and so here, as the story gets so close to reaching absolution, I would like to begin to thank all of you who have come on this journey with me. If you were here last May, when the publication of this narrative began, or if you followed in the subsequent months. If you've stumbled upon this story after it's long finished, or you're reading this on some bright-screened mobile phone in the middle of your darkened bedroom with your eyes suffering because of the intensity of the glow. If any of these things were the case, or none of them were, I would like to thank you. Because you've made it to 50, and in the end, there will only be 52.

**Also**: "For" all intents and purposes, I decided to use the exact same names as I did in "Back to Hogwarts". I hope that you all cry at my wonderful use of symbolism, and declare me (alongside Mark Gatiss) Supreme Ruler of the Universe And All Things.

**Post-Also "Also":** This is mostly here because **Lara1221** and **Millie** made me feel guilty. A good guilty; don't freak. I apologize if this is boring. The next one won't be.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty**

"**Penultimate"**

**Or**

"**In Something That James Leads, Fred Follows".**

* * *

"_There was never yet philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently._" — William Shakespeare

* * *

For James Potter, it ended upon choice.

For Cordelia Gilbert, it ended... for a while.

For Rose Weasley, it ended happily, much unlike an end.

For Scorpius Malfoy, it ended like it began: with a best friend.

For Patricia Day, it ended as a life she had been destined to excel in.

For Barbara Tennant, it ended with neither ceased breath nor loss of it.

For Fred Weasley, I'm proud to say that it didn't.

But, as I'm about to bow out, these things will be addressed almost immediately.

* * *

_**April 15**_

* * *

The first words out of James Potter's mouth on Monday, April 15th, did not account much for his priorities. In the days that would come, he'd find that the ideals placed in his mind that morning were in fact quite frivolous indeed, and he needn't have bothered with them in the first place. In fact, many things would happen to James in the weeks that followed. He would encounter something of an angel, stand as best man at a very significant wedding, and—perhaps most importantly—"fight the good fight", as all proverbs sought to state.

None of this, however, changed the fact that the sentence with which James was introduced to the world, on that Monday, April 15th, was nothing other than:

'I don't remember leaving those there.'

In this, he spoke of socks; and striped socks, at that. They were red and gold and the type that he had, once upon a time, worn when feeling particularly superstitious. Looking back on the events of the past few evenings, James struggled to recollect exactly why this pair of socks had somehow managed to travel from being squashed in the back corner at the bottom of his chest of drawers—the one located in his bedroom, which had once been Sirius Black's, and still contained various photographs of 70s Muggle pin-up girls—to the left arm of the living room couch.

James did not move to cast a spell and return the socks to their former location. Instead, he picked them up and (for reasons unknown to him, searching for something to be nostalgic about) began to investigate.

Eventually, he would pull them into place on his feet, because he was shoeless anyway, and it was a cold morning, with magic or without it. But, first, he decided to take this shoeless stroll down a road signed "Memory Lane".

The first girl he had kissed in these socks was Tracey McLaggen. He had been fifteen, and she sixteen, and it had been in the thick of spring. It wasn't anything close to his first relationship, for before Tracey there had been Emmy Brand and Shelley Corner, and probably two other kisses that had meant very little, but there had been a certain amount of giddiness regarding that particular kiss.

They had been standing under the beech tree beside the Black Lake, and even though James's mind was primarily occupied on whether or not they would be entangling any time soon, part of him noticed how the light hit her hair; it illuminated the gold, making it shine, like a ray of the sunshine itself had been caught, and would not be released until night closed over them both.

Funnily enough, they _did_ end up staying out there until such a time came, and even though this was the eleventh day of a fortnight-long relationship, and the entire thing was destined for failure before it even began: a kiss was shared, and that's what mattered to James. Tracey was beautiful, all long limbs and hair and pink lipstick.

(Looking back on it, James wondered if she was so "beautiful" after all. But Tracey had been the kind of beauty one possessed, and at fifteen, saw as supreme to all others. There was something precious in the love one found easily coveted, but also something meaningless in it. He found it leaning much more to the "meaningless" side of things now.)

A year after that—a year after the kiss with Tracey McLaggen, beside the Black Lake—James had won the Quidditch Cup in these socks. It had come down to Barbara, really, to end the game, but such a severe battle had waged that he felt euphoric all the same. Lily had been in tears, and so had half of the Ravenclaws: their opposition at the time.

Captained by Peter Davies, a fiercer game was rarely fought. His sister Bridget had left the match with a bloody nose, and while the rest of the team sought out her company, two hung back and tried, with the last of their courtesy, to congratulate the Gryffindors.

James had been stupid, really, to think that he would look through the history of these socks and not find Cordelia stained within it. This particular memory left her unsullied, known only as a flitting face and a kind word, while he focused more on making a jab at Will Bowen, whom Cordelia had accompanied. He hadn't lingered much on her then—Olive Riordan had been his object of desire at the time—but James wondered now if it was for the better. All that girl brought was blissful memories and bitter heartache.

There was the sound of laughter from the park outside, and the curtains opened to reveal a short girl with gingery hair pulling her two parents along. She was singing. Her father smiled, and her mother looked around as she pulled her shawl tighter, but the family of three looked happy enough.

'Hello, Erin Whatsername,' said James incredulously, more to himself than to the actual Erin, whose cheeks were still as pink in today's cold as they were four or five months prior. 'What are you doing around here?'

He was torn between wanting to stay inside and watch the little family pass, oblivious to the young man that was so like their daughter, and putting on his coat—and, most likely, some shoes—and going out to meet them.

In the end, he decided to let them get on with their lives, because who was he to intrude? They were entertaining, though. It was nice to know that people were happy, even if Erin was a muggleborn starved of magical education. James vowed jokingly to find her and give her tickets for a Quidditch game. She'd known him from there, anyway.

Erin Whatsername and her family hurried out of eyeshot after that, leaving James to wonder if they'd ever cross paths again.

* * *

'I think it's endearing,' said Patricia Day.

'Wow,' Scorpius muttered, casting his girlfriend a withering glare. '"Endearing". Thanks, Trish. Real points to my masculinity, right there.'

'You know what I mean!' she snapped. 'Not "endearing", but... I don't know. _Sweet_? A good show? Whatever you want to call it, I guess.'

Cordelia, who was sat on the opposite side of the room documenting a report on the maintenance of the prefects currently in service, went to the aid of her friend. 'You could use "admirable",' she suggested absentmindedly, continuing her paper shuffling. 'It's not gender-specific.'

Patricia looked pointedly at Scorpius. 'See? It was _admirable_.'

'Well, thanks. I was surprised she wasn't sneaking in some biting one-liners, myself.' He leaned back in his seat, sighing. 'Why is it that birds always choose to be nonviolent the exact same time I choose to be the opposite?'

'Opposites attract,' Patricia supposed. 'Perhaps Lily didn't think they were worth it.'

Disregarding the second statement, Scorpius said, '_we're_ not that opposite,' speaking of himself and Patricia and the fact that they had been in a relationship for over a year.

'No but you two have known each other forever,' Cordelia dismissed, not looking up from her charts. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and went back to work.

A moment passed, in which Scorpius and Patricia shared a kiss and Albus knocked on the door, accompanied by both his girlfriend and Sennen, who saw Cordelia through the gap made as the former two entered and proceeded to ask, 'I'm not a prefect, but can I come in?'

'Sure,' said Cordelia.

Her documentation had really just been to distract herself from the things that had been bothering her as of late—Kevin and James and Arithmancy and spiders and Kevin (because no matter what anyone else thought, she really _had_ liked him a lot)—and, with the arrival of her friends, she set it aside. Sighing, she made to leave.

It was not that she disliked her friends' company, for they _were_ her friends, after all, but being around couples in love made her feel a sense of crippling jealousy even though it was completely ridiculous to be so. And Albus was the captain of the Quidditch team she was set to play in less than a month's time, and that was another reminder of Kevin, and also of James, which just drilled in the memories of being with the former even more and kind of ignited her hatred in the latter and so when Sennen turned and looked at her quizzically as she retreated from the room it was why Cordelia said:

'It's not because of you.'

'Don't go!' said Albus.

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. 'Why not?'

'We want to hang out,' said Andy.

She shrugged. 'I'm not really... I'll see you guys tomorrow morning, won't I?'

'Yeah,' Patricia supposed. 'If you _really_ don't want to spend some time with us...'

'It's not that,' she assured them. 'I'm just a bit... tired. Yeah. Unless you have _dire_ need of me.'

'Not dire,' said Scorpius, 'but it'd be nice to see you once in a while. You're okay, aren't you?'

Cordelia nodded. 'Yeah.' (No.) 'Yeah, I'm fine.' (No. I'm miserable. But none of you need this.)

* * *

(_2017: A Bit on the Development of Fred Weasley_)

Nobody knew Barbara Tennant quite like he did. They didn't talk much outside lessons, and they didn't talk much during them, but he was still given ample opportunity to memorize the exact reasons why she did the things she did, and furthermore, how she did them. Her mother had been in Ravenclaw, and her father was a Muggle, so it was by all kinds of mystery that Barbara ended up in Gryffindor. It had began on a train; this strange, unique connection that he, though newly twelve at the time, thought to call a "commitment".

The first thing to occur to Fred was that he hadn't met her before. She was new; interesting, worth investigation. She wasn't Jess Thomas, Elena Finnigan, Melissa Jordan—nothing like any of the non-relatives he'd encountered up until that point. Molly had said that she had met Barbara while saying hello to her friends, all of whom had spawned from those Percy Weasley knew at the office. It wasn't much of a friendship-builder, but somehow Barbara had ended up leaving the compartment with Molly to seek out the one occupied by the Weasley family. (Sort of.)

Victoire hadn't been there, but Dominique had, though she left quickly enough after Barbara and Molly arrived. This had left Fred and James and Molly (and Barbara) to converse with one-another. It had been immediate speculation on Fred's part: would this girl be in Ravenclaw? Why did every second word out of her mouth sound both delicate and intimidating? Why wasn't she disapproving of the jokes he and James told, like Victoire's Ravenclaw friends usually were?

Now, almost eight months later, Fred sat in the Gryffindor common room and sighed. Dominique was across the room engaged in conversation with Gus Longbottom, who was being given a rather thorough look-over by Tracey McLaggen's brother's blonde female friend, and James was spinning a very wild tale to Jess Thomas, exaggerating the previous evening's misadventure with Filch to make himself sound much more expert. And, of course, Barbara Tennant had just waltzed into the common room from her dormitory, with Molly following closely behind.

'Hello, Fred,' she (Barbara) said, beaming.

'Hi,' said Fred. Master of charm, that one.

'Molly's been asked to Slughorn's dinner party by Clarence Podmore.'

Fred raised an eyebrow. 'But you're twelve,' he stammered, more _at_ Molly than to her. 'Don't you think that's a bit... _dodgy_?'

She poked her tongue out at him. 'She never said I'd accepted. My parents would have a fit, and I personally think we're all a bit young for that. Don't you?'

(In later years, this would have spurred a joke on James's behalf, but even one month after his twelfth birthday, that Potter child remained unsullied by talks and acts of premature attraction.)

'Why do you think I thought to bring light to your _twelve_... -ness...?'

If he had been alone, Fred probably would have slapped himself. There was something very wrong with the way he was acting; no wonder Barbara Tennant was giggling. He was a complete and utter buffoon.

'Anyway,' said the witch, sobering up but keeping the smile on her face, 'I was wondering if it was true about Hagrid. About you and James visiting him and things. Molly's gone with you, or so she says.'

'Er,' Fred began. _"Er"?!_ 'Y—Yeah. We've been to tea at Hagrid's. Our family's friends with him. We see him a lot.'

'Oh, like Professor Longbottom?'

'Yeah. I guess.'

(_2018: The Continuation of Fred Weasley's Development_)

Her hair was a lot longer now. She did not seem to have cut it since the year before, but it wasn't as though Fred _minded_. They talked more now, towards the end of second year, than they had before. He didn't think that hair length was directly proportional to that of the conversations they shared, though, because frankly, that was stupid. On this particular evening, Barbara and Fred sat together on the couch in front of the fireplace. Everybody else had gone to bed, and that meant a lot, because the sixth and seventh-years had gone, and it was _truly_ late, but for some reason, the two second-years saw fit to stay awake. To stay awake together.

'Remember when Clarence Podmore asked Molly to Slughorn's dinner party?'

Fred raised his eyebrows. 'How could I forget?'

'I don't know... maybe your _thirteen_-ness got in the way.'

He gave her a half-hearted shove. 'I was nervous,' he admitted far too quickly.

'Nervous about what?' Barbara asked genuinely.

'Well,' said Fred, improvising completely, 'if Molly had said "yes" and gone with Clarence Podmore, I would have had to assume the role of Protective Male Cousin and I don't think I was _ready_ for it, as a twelve-year-old.'

'_Please_,' she rebuffed; a statement accompanied by an eye roll. 'You wouldn't be ready for it as a thirteen-year-old, either.'

'I know,' he allowed. 'And I suppose that's best, because Molly hasn't been asked to anything since.'

The fire dimmed then, or perhaps it grew brighter. Fred wasn't giving it his express attention. All he could think about was the fact that it was past midnight and he'd hate himself in the morning because he'd be groggy as hell but he'd also be presumably euphoric about the whole thing because he was sitting with his pretty-in-a-best-friend-way _best friend_ in front of the fire, and in that moment he really didn't want anything else in the world.

(Except for a new broomstick. That would've been fantastic.)

(_2019: Third-year and Fred and Hogsmeade_)

There was a Hogsmeade trip this weekend. They'd been on tons since the beginning of the year, of course, but this would be _the_ weekend. He was going to ask her out.

James had pushed him into doing it, because—to quote him exactly—"once you've got a girlfriend, it turns into Snogsmeade, and that can be a truly wonderful experience"—and even though Fred had learned over the course of his life to do the precise _opposite_ of anything James said _ever_, there was nothing to be _lost_ by trying to ask Barbara on a date to Hogsmeade, was there?

'Hey!' said Barbara, bounding into the Great Hall (for it was lunchtime) and taking a seat beside him. 'How was Care of Magical Creatures?'

He shrugged. 'Hagrid got a bit carried away but otherwise, it was fine.'

'Oh, that sounds like fun.'

'It was, actually.'

'Good to know.'

_Come on, Fred. Just do it. Ask her out. Seven words._ One, if he said it fast._ WillyougotoHogsmeadewithme?_ Suddenly, just as the words were about to escape his mouth, there was a tap on his shoulder. Both Barbara and Fred turned.

Cherry Marigold was a Hufflepuff in their year, with curly golden hair and a smile unfairly perfect. She was, in her own way, probably one of the prettiest girls either of them would ever meet, and she was a very kind girl, as Barbara would tell Fred later; but despite being pretty "in her own way" and being very kind, she did not quite equate to what the Weasley boy had grown to consider beautiful. And this meant he was probably more surprised than everyone else when Cherry flashed him her biggest smile and asked him—Fred Weasley, to whom she had spoken roughly ten times in three years, counting greetings and questions on homework—if he would accompany her to Hogsmeade.

His entire mind went blank. Barbara's elbow collided with his solar plexus, and he started, but nothing occurred to him, in terms of conversation. Cherry's smile was slowly fading, which made him feel bad; what had he ever done to her?

'Er—uh—'

'He'd love to,' Barbara insisted, smiling reassuringly at the Hufflepuff.

'Great!' said Cherry, before giving them both a sparkling look and sauntering off to her table.

Fred turned back to Barbara. 'What the hell did you do that for?'

'Look at her!' she said. 'She's smitten—it's _cute!_'

'I barely know her!'

'Perfect!' Barbara grinned. 'You can get to know her in the village.'

'Snogsmeade?' enquired the newly-arrived James, who had only heard the end of this conversation.

Barbara shrugged. 'Perhaps.'

'_No_,' Fred pressed. 'Not "Snogsmeade".'

'Why not? Cherry Marigold is fit.'

He raised his eyebrows in James's direction. 'You're dating Emmy Brand.'

'So what? I can't appreciate the beauty of other specimens?'

Barbara rolled her eyes. 'They're in the same dormitory. You're a pig.'

James shrugged. 'It's not my fault everybody loves me.'

The two members of his company snorted. 'Right. Yeah.'

(_2020: Nothing Gold Can Stay—and Some Fred, too_)

His "date" with Cherry Marigold did not spur a second, or a third, as sweet to her as he tried to be. By the end of it, Fred had only been sure of one thing: that he shouldn't have been out with anyone other than Barbara. He sat beside James in the boys' dormitory now, remembering that night for no reason in particular. James was recounting something in the stories of some random Ravenclaw he'd kissed behind a pillar at one of Slughorn's parties. None of it mattered to Fred.

James kicked him. 'You're awfully quiet. Doesn't this interest you?'

'What? You snogging Bethany Price?'

'Bethany _Bryce_,' James corrected. 'Bethany Price is ghastly. Very much a know-it-all; tries too hard to be interesting—I mean, _really_, what kind of a girl "doesn't believe in the use of hair ties"? Barbara's always got her hair up and _she's_ not "self-important",' he added, quoting again. Realization seemed to dawn. 'That's what this is about, isn't it? Barbara?'

Fred sighed. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

James raised his eyebrows. 'We're related, Frederico. Can't lie to me _that_ easily.'

'Don't call me "Frederico".'

'I'll call you whatever I want.'

'I'll call you a twat.'

James smirked. 'Wouldn't be the first time, mate.'

Felix, Chris, and Quentin entered the dormitory at this point; the latter two held pumpkin pasties, which they set down on their respective beds before beginning to engage in what bit of James and Fred's conversation continued. As Quentin watched his roommates, Felix nicked two pumpkin pasties.

'Listen, gents,' said James, his voice carrying over all of them, 'do you or do you not find it unbearably obvious that Fred fancies Barbara?'

Not waiting for anyone to answer, Fred snapped, 'so she's my best mate—get over it.'

'Oi,' said Chris, 'Roxanne's probably my best mate and nothing's happening there.'

'And Elena's Felix's best mate,' Quentin tried.

'Nah, that'll happen eventually,' James interjected.

(How little he knew.)

(_2021: Niall, and Denial_)

Barbara got her first boyfriend that year. They'd been together five months so far. His name was Niall, and he was a seventh-year. He'd asked Barbara to Hogsmeade—_jinx me_, thought Fred—and that had started a chain reaction of sickeningly-sweet declarations of love and introduction to bands that he'd never really had much liking for.

In short: Fred Weasley was jealous. And there was really nothing else to be said on the matter.

(_2022: Admission, of Sorts_)

With his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry approximately two months from drawing to a close, Fred took the time—as any over-sentimental wizard would—to reflect on how his experience with the castle and its grounds had been thus far; next time he left, it would mean he was returning for what was, most likely, the last time.

Barbara seemed to have noticed him standing there on the balcony alone, because she told her friends to go on (these being the Ravenclaw ones: her usual study-buddies, and a fifth-year named Cordelia) and wound her arms around him from behind, once she got close enough. 'You seem lost in thought.'

'I am,' Fred admitted. 'Care to locate me?'

This made her smile—that wide smile, that he loved. 'You're at Hogwarts, with your best friend, who you love more than anyone else and would literally jump in front of a Killing Curse for.'

Fred raised his eyebrows.

'Not that anyone would want to fire the Killing Curse at me, anyway. I'm very sweet.'

'Yes, you are.' They stood side by side now, gazing out the window to the grounds, and so Fred put one arm around her. 'How was your little study session with those geniuses?'

She blushed. 'They're not geniuses; they're just people.'

'Who happen to be incredibly smart. Forgive me, I'm not a prefect.'

'And somehow James _is_,' Barbara weighed. 'I worry for the world.'

'I'd worry for _you_ if you didn't.'

Then fell one of those slightly uncomfortable moments in which both knew that they probably could have kissed and never said anything about it; because Barbara had read enough books to know that this was the part where the main characters let such a thing happen, and Fred had read those same books in order to have something to talk about with her, so he was also quite aware of what probably should have happened next. But it didn't; not for over six months, when they'd long forgotten about this moment.

(Or, rather, they'd long begun to pretend to have forgotten.)

(_2023: Just So You Know_)

'Just so you know,' said Fred, 'I'm very happy that we're together.'

Barbara looked puzzled. 'So am I. But what makes you want to admit it?'

'Not sure,' he told her. 'I've just been thinking; about first year and Cherry Marigold and that time one year ago today, when we could have kissed but didn't.'

She smiled. 'I'm so pleased you remember that.'

(_2024: Wedding Plans_)

But for all the time he had spent imagining, the best outcome had been today. Because, on all the occasions that Fred had wished he could have told her—_believed_ that a day would come in which he had to, or he'd lose her forever—he could never have predicted that, years later, he would have finalized all the plans for his _wedding_. His wedding to _Barbara_.

(_Shit_, Fred thought very suddenly. _I'm getting married_.)

* * *

_**April 16**_

* * *

Most people wouldn't have expected to find the Head Girl standing in front of one of the mirrors in the second-floor lavatory; especially not with her face flushed and her eyes teary. She sniffled, wiping away the now-sticky transparent evidence of her crying session. A deep, wavering breath left it evident that she was making attempts to calm herself down, and as she pulled her sweater down to unfold its creases, this information was made tangible.

'Calm down,' Cordelia told herself, gripping the sink a hand at both its sides. 'Don't cry. Don't be stupid.' Her skirt was crooked, and force of habit pushed her to straighten it out. Another sigh. 'Come on. Come on, you're better than this. Girls shouldn't cry over a relationship that lasted six weeks—especially if it wasn't directly their fault. Come on.'

Little was it known to she, Rose Weasley had made the misfortunate—or perhaps there was no "mis" about it, depending on whose perspective you'd see fit to view—decision of entering the second-floor lavatory and heard the last of this monologue. She stood out of eyeshot, silent, wondering if it would be wise to reveal herself, or otherwise retreat. Ultimately, she chose the first option.

'You're not okay,' she said, 'are you?'

Cordelia stood up and turned, swallowing. 'I—I'll be fine. I _am_ fine.'

Rose raised an eyebrow. 'Is that supposed to convince me?'

The Head Girl smiled slightly. 'I'm fine. It's nothing.' After a momentary pause, she added: 'I mean, I _may_ hate your cousin a bit, but I'm sure I'll get over it.'

Rose raised her eyebrows. 'Which cousin is this?'

Cordelia looked at her. 'Which one do you _think_ would be responsible for causing Kevin Corner to break up with me?' Realizing what she had said, she shook her head quickly. 'You don't even want to hear about this. I'm fine. I'm just—I'll go. Thanks for asking, but I really don't need to burden you with my problems—I'm sure you have your own—and I'd hate to be a prima donna—so, er, thank you. But. I have to... I'm sorry.'

Rose could do nothing to delay her, but did notice that the Ravenclaw was visibly distraught. That much was obvious. So, as Cordelia left, Rose bit her lip and followed her path, but not seeking her specifically. Instead, she ran into Lily.

'Something's not right,' said Rose, before Lily could even manage a greeting.

'What is it?'

'James has screwed something up. Something he wasn't even here for.'

'Okay, so what's new?'

'Lily.'

'Sorry.'

'Cordelia and Kevin broke up last week and James had something to do with it because Cordelia was just in the toilets and I'm pretty sure she was crying and she told me she "hated my cousin a bit" and that he was the reason Kevin dumped her.'

Lily's brown eyes narrowed. 'Sixty-five percent of the school _was_ calling him a placeholder.'

'Perhaps that's the problem,' said Louis, slotting himself and Melissa into the conversation as they paused beside the two redheads on the staircase. 'A placeholder for _who_ exactly?'

'James,' said Lily, stating the obvious. She rolled her eyes. 'Whoever those people were, they're mental. Cordelia hasn't had anything to do with James for months. She's been minding her own business—_Merlin_, girls at this school need to find better gossip.'

'Better gossip?' Melissa echoed, pointing across the large corridor (almost an atrium, really) to where Hugo stood, laughing with a very happy-looking Gabbie Sterling. Beside Gabbie stood Matthew Leighton, but very little attention seemed to have been paid to him. 'How's that for "better gossip"?'

Rose smiled. 'Let's not bother that lot, eh?'

'Bother?' Lily smirked. 'That's kind of my job description.'

* * *

_**April 17**_

* * *

Very little happened on April 17th, except for one life-altering aspect for which it would go down in history: at approximately seven o'clock that evening, over three hundred members of the species Acromantula expelled themselves from the Forbidden Forest and set forth upon Hogwarts school.


	51. Perdita

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Go, Jo.

**AN:** For all of you, and a couple of people who don't know what they mean to me.

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-One**

"**Perdita"**

**Or**

"**Farewell".**

* * *

"_Eyes, look your last."_ — William Shakespeare

* * *

**April 17 (cont'd)**

* * *

(_A Bit of Background Understanding_)

They'd never forget the screaming; the shattering of glass, the blaring sirens. Perhaps the sirens weren't there, but with all the surrounding din, they could have been. The first thing the Professors had done was lower the Apparition charms set over the school; funnily enough, they'd had time to. Dinner had just adjourned, so most students were on their way back to the dormitories. The entire establishment gave a great lurch, which almost caused some of the younger kids to stumble from their staircases, but also alerted their older peers to the fact that _perhaps_ something was going on.

In the next ten minutes, a lot of confusing events would occur. First, all the castle's residents would be ushered to their common rooms, where a house elf was waiting. Sprout had sent the elves to arrive by their bizarre means of transportation and give instruction to the fifth-, sixth- and seventh-years about what was required of them. The teachers were busier with other tasks.

At the word of the house elf, the fireplace in each common room was set up for the Floo Network; one of the Prefects for the house was sent through first, to the platform at Hogsmeade Station, where the Hogwarts Express was currently being sent from London. The first- through fourth-years followed, and then another Prefect. The responsibility of keeping their underclassmen calm and orderly fell to the eight of them: Kevin Corner, Penelope Paulsen, Jenna Fawcett, Troy Santiago, Hugo Weasley, Rose Weasley, Ella Parkinson, and Gilligan Bulstrode. They would get to rely very closely on each other in the following hours.

* * *

(_Back in the Castle_)

Back in the castle, the remaining Prefects were called to the Entrance Hall, where their professors had managed to detain the vast number of Acromantula up until that point. By the time Albus, Lucy, and the two other two Gryffindor prefects arrived, their Slytherin and Hufflepuff counterparts were already fast at work. Some were calling the statues and suits of armor to service, some were helping the professors with defensive spells. One fifth-year prefect had fainted and was now being hurriedly resuscitated by a very exasperated-looking Scorpius Malfoy.

'Where's Andy?!' Albus demanded of the Head Boy.

Scorpius did not turn to look at him, nor did he help the fifth-year to her feet; he raised his wand in the direction of the doors, which were splintered and almost fully destroyed by the weight of the spiders. From what Albus could see of the Great Hall, the windows at the back were flickering with shadowed black forms: the spiders were climbing.

'_Where's Andy?!_' he pressed once more.

'Where do you _think_?!' Scorpius replied shortly, not tearing his eyes from the action of the doorway. Professors hurried past, down to the dungeons and into the Great Hall. None took very much notice of the boys. 'She's with Patricia—something about not wanting to just _leave_ the house elves!'

'There are spiders everywhere —and-and she's thinking of the _house elves_?'

'Yeah. Real bloody humanitarian. Give the girl an award. Look, are you gonna _help_ here, or—?'

The doors could take no more and were blasted from their hinges; the force of the onslaught threw the two boys back, hurtling through the air with pieces of wood and stone and all of their professors. Landing on their backs, Scorpius and Albus scrambled up, eyes widening at the sight before them. Hundreds of Acromantula crawling up the walls, all with eight beady eyes fixed upon the humans below.

Half the professors Disapparated to various locations around the room, and Professor Bell grabbed Lucy out of the way of the spiders before following his peers' example. There was the great, jarring echo of glass smashing above and screams began to echo around the halls. Albus and Scorpius looked at each other.

* * *

(_The Potter Residence_)

'Mum! Dad!' As soon as he appeared in the front garden, James was screaming. 'Mum!'

The door flung itself open before him as he entered, casting quick looks around the living room and into the kitchen, but finding no one. Heavy, hurried footsteps echoed from the staircase, and James leapt across the room; he was three stairs up before he stopped, inches from his mother's face. His father stood behind, at the top of the stairs.

'Have you—have you heard?! About what's happening at school?!'

Ginny nodded, and Harry asked, 'Have you heard from Al? Lily?'

James shook his head. 'I just—bloody—Fred showed up in the fireplace, told me Rose had sent a Floo message to her parents, telling them—'

'—same as us, then—' Ginny interjected.

'I've got to go,' James urged.

'We'd never have stopped you,' said Harry quickly, bolting down the stairs and ushering his wife and son to do the same. 'James—go; Mum and I have to settle something first.'

'Settle what?!'

'Well, one of us has got to tell Teddy and Victoire, if they don't already know—'

'—and I'm going to go and make sure George doesn't do something stupid,' said Ginny, buttoning up her jacket. She took a few steps forward and gave James a fleeting kiss on the forehead. 'Be careful.'

With that, she Disapparated. James threw his arms around his father. 'Remind Teddy of his kid—yeah?'

There was something in Harry's face then; a shadow, a memory. Déjà vu? Had something like this happened before? James's father replied, 'Yeah. That's the first thing I'm going to do.'

* * *

(_Gryffindor Tower_)

'What are the rest of us meant to do?!' Lily Potter pressed.

She'd never been one for sitting around and waiting. She'd also never been in a very life-threatening situation, but surely there was more to be done than stay, holed up in the common room, until help did or didn't come. Louis had been pacing for fifteen minutes, which was understandable. Rose had gone to help those on the platform, and in doing so, had left Gryffindor tower with significantly less magical knowledge.

But nobody else was _doing_ anything. The seventh-years, they weren't _leading_! Nobody had tried to devise a plan of attack, a plan of defence—a plan of any description. War could be waging outside; her _brother_ could be out there _dying_! And nobody was doing anything. Lucy had gone with the prefects, so no one would back her up, but there _had_ to be more to this. There _had_ to be—they'd been told to stay behind for a reason, hadn't they?

'We're meant to stay here, guard the tower,' said Alana Harris.

Lily narrowed her eyes and looked at her roommate as if wondering if she was mentally impaired. '"Guard the tower"?' she repeated slowly. 'Guard the tower from _what_, exactly? _For _what? There's nothing up here but dormitories and about nineteen cats. _What_ is worth protecting here?' She looked around at everyone else, the general majority of whom were eavesdropping rather shamelessly. 'If we're not getting out there and fighting, it won't matter what happens to Gryffindor tower. By the time those spiders arrive, it'll be too late. Do you _really_ want to leave the professors, the _prefects_, down there? Fighting for us while we do _nothing_? While we "guard the tower"?'

She turned to Roxanne. 'Rox, come on—there's got to be something we can do.'

Her cousin nodded. 'Lily's right. We're _Gryffindors_, aren't we? What's brave, what's chivalrous, about staying up here while people could be dying? They're going to need all the help they can get.' A few people stood in agreement (Louis among them), but some just stared. 'Right,' said Roxanne. 'I won't force you, but if the slim margin of decent people in this room get themselves killed, don't try and romanticize our relationships. I think you're all arseholes.'

* * *

(_Thirty Minutes Later_)

The Ministry officials had arrived, as they would have been expected to in any situation remotely similar to the one Hogwarts was in. They stationed themselves—_conveniently_—in the common rooms, preventing the students from advancing into the war-zone as it was "a safety hazard". The one in the Hufflepuff common room was a right prick; he had dark hair, brown eyes, and an incredibly lazy demeanor. Unfortunately, it was not the kind of lazy that lent itself to allowing students past the common room borders; in fact, it was the kind of lazy that held steadfast to the belief that, if they ventured past those doors, they would die.

Sennen was sitting two chairs away from this chap, trying to maintain conversation with anyone who passed by. The Hufflepuff common room was the worst place to be at a time like this, because they were far enough from the school to have absolutely no idea what was going on. What put the icing on the cake was that this dolt of a Ministry official seemed to think he was entitled to lean over every so often and try to chat her up. She'd almost punched him three times in the ten minutes he'd been there.

'Why can't I go and help?' she demanded, standing up and storming over to him. 'I may not be a prefect, but I'm a seventh-year; I'm ready for my N.E.W.T. exams—I _demand_ you let me leave this common room. My friends—my _teachers_—could be in any kind of peril out there; they could be screaming for back-up—and I _don't bloody know_, because you've seen fit to lock all of us up in here.'

The Ministry official raised one condescending eyebrow at this, which made Sennen very near slap him. 'I'm afraid I can't let you do that, love.'

'Why _not_?!' she snapped. 'Because you don't care that it's only a matter of time before those spiders get here, too?! And _don't_ "love" me—not when you're being damn difficult!'

'I can't let you out there,' he said stubbornly as Misty Mumps joined Sennen. 'That counts for you, too.'

Sennen looked at Misty, then back at the Ministry official. She sighed. 'Well, if I'm ever going to be arrested, I may as well go out in style.' Then her hand curled into a fist and she committed an extreme act of anarchy: she slugged him. (It was a good punch; he was knocked unconscious.) The girls hopped over his crumpled body, told the younger students not to follow them, and then dashed out of the common room.

* * *

(_The Sixth Floor_)

Albus grabbed Andy so hard his hands left visible marks. Her face was scratched and his lip was bleeding and they probably should have been running, but in the isolated corridor, where the shouts of spells and beast hisses seemed like the echoes of imagination, neither moved.

'Oh thank _God_ you're all right,' Albus breathed, pressing his forehead against hers, as if cherishing the fact that she was tangible, and she'd been found, even for the briefest of moments.

'Almost wasn't,' Andy told him. 'There are so many of them—they're _everywhere_; and so little of us. I don't know how we're still alive, to be honest.'

'But we are,' he said, his hands moving to each side of her face; they lingered there as he spoke to her, green eyes boring into brown, 'and we're going to stay this way. All right? _All right_?'

Breathing heavily, she nodded. He pulled her close and kissed her, first briefly but then growing in gusto; what terrified them both was the high possibility that it could very well be the last time. There was a screech from behind them as two sixth-year Ravenclaws sprinted past, shouting, 'it's coming! It's coming!' and then, in the next second, an acromantula emerged.

It approached with frightening speed, all hair and limbs and pincers. Andy pulled at her boyfriend's arm. 'Al! Come on! We have to run!' But he did not budge.

'We get rid of it now, there's one less to worry about!'

She continued to pull him. 'But if you get yourself killed, what happens later won't _matter_!'

Before Albus could respond, the spider lunged. '_Immobulus!_' shouted the Gryffindor. Fortunately, either by skill or by luck, the spell caught its target. He raised his arm higher, and the acromantula corresponded; with a quick, heavy-breathed glance towards Andy, he opened his mouth again. '_Reducto!_'

The entire beast burst into pieces, most of it completely powdered and harmless. A jet of venom shot through the air and both seventh-years dodged it, before Andy grabbed Albus, kissed him, and then continued running. They ducked a hex and launched themselves forward, out of the way of a massive web set forth by one of the spiders on the other side of the corridor. It was far enough away to be of little danger to them, and three Ministry wizards were currently combating what parts of it they could, without completely ignoring the other advancing beasts.

'I love you,' said Albus, sounding very out-of-breath from their continued sprint.

Andy, who had never done anything remotely athletic if it did not involve short distance jumping over kitchen tables to get to cakes before her relatives, had begun to lag behind. 'Oh—oh, god—are we _really_ going to do this _now_?'

'We could be dead in ten minutes,' he reasoned.

'I thought you were the optimist!'

'I'm a _realist_!'

'You're an—' She screamed, and so did Albus, because the floor below them had just given way. Tumbling through the air was a new sensation, and when they both landed—without much to cushion the fall—the dust blooming from the rubble was all that could be seen. There were massive chunks of stone surrounding the couple, and Albus stumbled over something that felt very hairy.

He shouted a vague mixture of jinxes and swear words, but no death came. Instead, there was a chuckle.

'Al?'

The Gryffindor tensed. '_James_?'

He heard the brief mutter of an incantation, and the dust cloud cleared; Andy was lying a little way behind him, slowly beginning to get up, and in front of Albus, stood his brother. This was slightly overshadowed by the fact that there was the remnants of an exceedingly long-limbed acromantula two feet away from him, covered in stone and rubble.

'It's dead,' said James, crossing his arms. 'I saw to that.' He leaned over, looking around Albus. 'Is that Andy?' he asked his brother quickly, to which he received a nod. The address was then made to the Hufflepuff, who was dusting herself off. 'Sorry to bring you along for the ride, sweetheart. Just trying to kill a spider.'

Albus rolled his eyes, and so did Andy. 'Couldn't you have done it by some other method? Like, you know, not _breaking_ the castle and almost killing your brother—and myself, I might add?'

James shrugged. 'But where's the fun in that? And in case you haven't noticed, my dear, the castle's already broken. See for yourself.'

* * *

(_What's Left of the Lupins_)

'I'm going—I have to!'

'No,' said Victoire, pulling her husband to a halt in the middle of the living room. Her hand remained clutched on his arm as her eyes blazed, glaring at him with everything she could muster. 'You're staying here.'

'Why, so other people can die, so more kids are left parentless?'

'So yours _isn't_,' she said. She bit her lip. 'Teddy, you know what growing up without your parents was like...'

'What—so you don't want to help?'

Victoire gasped. 'Of _course_ I want to help! I just know you wouldn't let me—'

'—you've got our baby to live for—our _unborn_—'

She stared at him, her gaze beseeching. Slowly, she began to vociferate. 'You won't let me go because of our baby. Because you don't want to lose _it_, and you don't want to lose _me_. Right?'

Teddy sighed, giving up on Disapparation at the present. 'Right.'

'So what makes you think it'd be any easier for me to lose _you_, Teddy?'

His façade broke down. With a heavy breath, he murmured, 'fine. I won't go.'

* * *

(_The Head Boy_)

The wall was approaching at a very uncontrollable pace. Scorpius Malfoy was, without a doubt, going to crash into it. This was exactly what he'd predicted. (Not the impalement against a Hogwarts tapestry, but the attack on the school.) That's why he'd asked Rose to take extra watches; she'd know if something happened. He hadn't wanted to worry anyone else. Except that seemed completely and utterly pointless now. The entire place had gone to the dogs; chaos reigned, and the Head Boy was about to flatten himself against a picture of prancing animals. (When he said things had gone to the dogs, Scorpius was speaking—unfortunately —rather literally.)

He'd just taken down a pair of spiders, which was always for the better; except in this particular case, it wasn't, because he'd just lost Patricia and Cordelia, and he couldn't quite remember which ones of the tapestries were actually trapdoors, and even though he'd always been a pretty decent runner, the forces of inertia were probably leading him to loss of his teeth.

'Oh my god—Scorpius, I'm so —if only I could—oh, god—_stop!_'

This exclamation sounded very much like one, high-pitched squeal, but when somebody tackled him from the side and they both went flying, Scorpius thought it could have been gibberish for all he cared. He never collided with the wall, though he did hit the floor quite hard, and whoever it was who had jumped him was bloody lucky they'd landed directly atop the seventh-year, because he was probably a better mat than the actual floor.

He coughed and spluttered, in something of a united rhythm with his companion, and only when he pulled himself up into a sitting position did he realize exactly why he had been mowed down so aggressively. A spider was lowering itself from the ceiling two floors up; whoever it was beside him was breathing very heavily, but Scorpius wasn't sure he wanted to look away from the acromantula to check who he'd unwillingly chosen as a partner in death.

* * *

(_"Love" is finally given_)

James was about to part ways with Neville Longbottom, alongside whom he had just taken down another pair of spiders, when he came to a realization that caused him to stop.

'Er... _Neville?_' he called hesitantly.

The older man turned. 'Yes, James?'

'Mum and Dad send their love.'

'What?'

James half-smiled. 'Well, the thing is, on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, as I was leaving for my second year, my mum told me to give you her—and dad's—love.' He watched a smile begin to spread across Neville's face, and he added, 'of course, I was just like "what in the world? Mum, I can't give him _love_!" because you were my Herbology teacher at school and all, and that would've been _totally_ uncomfortable in front of everyone—especially Jess Thomas, because I fancied her a bit at the time—so I never told you. And I... I honestly don't know _why_ it occurred to me _now_ of all times, but... you know... I just thought I should've told you. That Mum and Dad send their love.'

Neville went a bit pink. 'Well, er... thanks for that.'

Realizing how stupid of a thing it had been to say, James shrugged. 'Don't mention it.'

* * *

(_Lily Luna_)

If only she could get to the trapdoor. He'd been so close to it, but also to the acromantula. It would have cast itself off the web were she a second late. They could make it to the trapdoor—it was just beyond the tapestry. She barely had the strength to get up; she'd been sprinting for such a long time. Her eyes averted from the spider to the Head Boy, but he wasn't looking at her. This sobered Lily up enough to say what had to be said.

'We have to get to that tapestry,' she told him, too quiet at first.

He did not respond, and so she pulled herself to her feet. He seemed anchored to one spot. 'Scorpius, we have to get to that tapestry. Now. It's a trapdoor, not big enough for that thing to follow us.' Standing now, she nudged him with her arm. 'Scorpius, please, I don't want to leave you here.'

For someone who had been so motionless, Scorpius's next move was quick. He grabbed her hand and used it to stand, all in a flurry of movement. The spider was getting closer; it could have leapt and reached them now.

'Tapestry?'

'Yeah.'

'Right then,' said Scorpius, with something like robust determination. His grip on Lily's hand tightened and they made one mad dash of that fifteen feet between themselves and salvation. 'You shouldn't be here!' he told her.

'Should anyone?' she matched, pulled along by his longer stride.

With that, they reached it, and he pushed her inside first. 'No, I don't suppose so.'

* * *

(_One Last Chime_)

The Entrance Hall was a flurry of fifth-years, from all houses and situations. Most of the professors had abandoned it to help with the breached upper floors, but Professor Bell remained. There were various spiders all around the room, and he was busy enough with the ones he had to deal with, not even _beginning_ to factor in his students'. Every time one advanced, he was occupied with another, and this vicious cycle was starting to wear him down.

'_Expulso!_' Adrian cried.

'Does that spell work on living objects?' came a voice from behind him.

The spider smashed into pieces, taking a large amount of the wall with it. 'Apparently so!'

'_Reducto!_' cried Cordelia (for that was who had spoken).

Another acromantula was blown to dust, but none of its company were very happy; the other two on the opposite side of the Entrance Hall cried out. Adrian and Cordelia looked at each other, and then turned, just as the fifth-years screamed. The spider had lowered itself down onto the ground from its former place against the wall. It stood in front of them, ready to scuttle forward and strike. Adrian's eyes flickered from Cordelia to the scene unfolding before him, and picked the latter.

He charged across the room to the group of fifth-years and pushed them out of the way as the spider lunged; he seemed to realize what would happen a second before it did, but made no move to stop it... and the other occupants of the Entrance Hall watched, from various angles, perspectives, viewpoints, as the beast sunk its pincers into Adrian Bell.

* * *

(_Down at Hogsmeade Station_)

There was the familiar popping sound of Apparition and, a split-second apart, Fred Weasley and Barbara Tennant appeared. He looked worried and she looked pale, mostly because she had heard the problem at Hogwarts involved things of the _acromantula_ breed and she'd never been any good with spiders; but right now, in the groups of children thronging the platform, they exuded determination.

There had been a bit of a spat prior to leaving the house: that if Fred went up to the school, he probably wouldn't be safe, but if neither of them went, there was no guarantee that their relatives _would _be. Barbara had resolved to do her part by helping the evacuees, though the degree of what there was to be done varied along the platform.

After walking about seventeen feet and spying Rose and Hugo, Barbara and Fred turned to one-another. Both breathed deeply. She straightened out a fold in his jacket, and allowed her hand to linger there. His found her waist. They kissed briefly, then just held each other.

'I love you,' said Fred.

'I love you, too,' said Barbara.

They pulled away from one another, still standing close with one of their hands clasped.

'Make sure you stay safe, all right?'

Fred nodded, grinning in hopes that his fiancée would. 'Make sure _this_ lot get on the train once it arrives. I promise I'll come and find you as soon as this is over. I love you.'

'Love you.'

With another kiss, he departed.

* * *

(_Back to the Chiming_)

'_Reducto!_' Cordelia shouted, falling victim to shock and rage simultaneously. The spider exploded and she moved to take on the other, taking a step forward as she did so. '_Reducto! Expulso! Reducto!_'

She was covered in dust and the remnants of beasts, but none of that mattered. The fifth-years had screamed, and she hadn't blamed them. They ran now, away from their professor who was heaving on the ground, to where the foot of the stairs should have been. Cordelia moved instead to Adrian's side, at which she fell—quite dramatically, but perhaps that was all she could have done—to her knees. He lay down flat on the ground, and for now, he was still breathing. The venom was taking effect.

'Professor? Professor Bell?'

His eyes flickered to her, but no audible response was given.

'Professor? _Adrian_?'

His lips moved at this; the ghost of a smile. Cordelia turned to the fifth-years, who were now cowering together against the cracked stairwell. She stared at them. 'Aren't you going to do something? Find someone—Madam Pomfrey—_someone!_ They've got to help! Help him!' Without checking to see if they had done so, she reverted her attention to Adrian, who did nothing but extend one of his hands closer to hers.

She took it, and his grip was surprisingly strong.

'They can't help me,' he whispered. 'Not even Poppy.'

Cordelia's voice broke. 'Don't... don't say that.'

Adrian looked up at her. His breathing had slowed; it was nearly gone.

Succumbing to tears: 'Adrian...'

The ghostly smile reappeared, but it just seemed unfair to Cordelia now. 'Please.'

He gave one great, wavering exhalation. 'You're a sweet girl, Cordelia.'

And then Adrian Bell moved no more.

* * *

(_Seasoned Kisses and Desperation_)

Scorpius left Lily at the other end of the tapestry, with the reassurance that she would be safe, because her cousins were on their way, around, somewhere nearby. This sounded lame, but his mind was occupied with other things, like the location of his best friends, and Patricia. He found them on the third floor, and noticed a tall messy-haired young man sprinting in the opposite direction, out of sight. Before addressing this, he wrapped his arms around his girlfriend, holding her tight, breathing her in. There was something delicate in the simple act of cherishing the fact they were both alive, even if it was just for now. The two kissed, close-together and passionate, yet not distasteful.

Scorpius pulled away and addressed the rest of the quartet. 'Thank the universe for you three.'

Andy and Albus, who had their hands entwined, discontinued this. Andy embraced Scorpius first, and, in the impulse of the moment, Scorpius kissed her on the forehead—the easiest place to reach. Everyone was pleased to be safe, even this early in what would seem a perpetual battle. Albus pulled Scorpius over to him quickly; their arms clasped each other tightly, like there would never be another chance. Then, either surprisingly or predictably, Scorpius reached out and kissed him.

'I don't know what I'd do if we hadn't found you,' said Albus, ignoring the looks from Andy and Patricia, as well as the ones being transferred between the pair of girls. (Though, to be honest, he was also quite stunned at what had just happened.)

Scorpius knew Albus meant his statement in terms of their current situation, but chose to respond with: 'You'd be a lot more bored, just generally.'

The four laughed, though it seemed strange time allowed them to do so.

'Please don't die,' said Albus quite seriously, 'you know, over the course of the next few hours.'

Scorpius, his hand set on his best friend's shoulder, tried for a smile. 'I'll do my best.'

'That's all we can hope for in the end, I guess.'

'You know it.'

* * *

(_Disbelief_)

Scorpius and Patricia sprinted down the corridor, in the opposite direction to Andy and Albus, who had gone to find Cordelia (presuming there was a Cordelia Gilbert left to be found).

'You just kissed Al!' she exclaimed.

'Yes, I know,' he replied. 'I'm not about to leave you for him—it lasted half a second and it's because we're probably all going to die, anyway—it's the middle of a war, love; I'd kiss _anyone!_'

* * *

(_A Cover of Fog_)

There was silence in the Charms corridor. It was eerie. The Acromantula had all gone off to different areas of the school, leaving Sennen Cartwright weeping over the cold, discoloured corpse of Misty Mumps. She had been too late. Always too late. It had been her fault Misty left the common room at all—why had she been so stupid? Why had she punched that bloke? All of this was her fault—and that didn't even matter, because Misty was _dead_.

'She's dead, you stupid girl!' Sennen told herself, through snot and tears and loss of social decorum. 'Why are you sitting here thinking of yourself?!'

Running footsteps came to a stop behind her, but she couldn't see the people to whom they belonged. All she could do was stare, hopeless—_helpless_, at the body of a girl who had once been her friend. Arms wrapped around her, and Sennen knew they were Andy's. She could hear her soothing voice telling her that everything was okay, but when she turned she saw that Andy had tears streaking down her face, too.

The other pair of feet had belonged to Albus, but he was not crying. He hadn't really known Misty Mumps. All he saw when he looked down was a broken, bloody teenage girl. But that sight seemed terrifying enough on its own, Sennen supposed. Then again—it wasn't like he'd spent years of his life in the same dormitory as that broken, bloody teenage girl. She'd had seven. _Almost_ seven. Sennen continued to sniffle and sob.

She watched Albus crouch down, wrap an arm around Andy, and place a kiss on her cheek. 'I have to go and find Cordelia,' he said, as if this casualty had awoken that need. It was, of course, (unbeknownst to Sennen) the reason they had come this way at all.

* * *

(_Hogsmeade Station, Once Again_)

The Hogwarts Express could not come quick enough. Merlin knew what was going on up at the school. Molly had arrived shortly after Barbara, and the two of them were assisting the prefects in maintaining some level of organization. The children all stayed, to a certain extent, in their own groups, with their own houses and whatnot, but with the tension and terror thick in the air, all of them seemed abuzz.

Rose and Hugo sat with Molly now; she had one arm around Rose and one around Hugo, and she kissed the latter's forehead as Barbara watched. A bit further down the platform, near the building with the Floo connection to Hogwarts, somebody gave a shout. It was a fourth-year Ravenclaw, running and throwing their arms around one of a group of older students who had just appeared. They seemed to be fifth-years, slightly jarred and very pleased to be out.

Barbara ran to them. 'What's going on?! Who else is being evacuated?'

One of them, a plain-faced blonde girl, said, 'I—I don't know. There was a man from the Ministry in Ravenclaw tower; he said they're sending everyone still in their common rooms down here. Is—is it true? There are Acromantula everywhere? People are dead? We've heard so little!'

Barbara shook her head. 'I'm sorry, I don't know. Please, find somewhere to sit down; try to relax. You can go to sleep if you like.' The Ravenclaws began to walk off, but she called after them. 'How many others were in your common room?'

'I'm not sure. About eight more? I don't know about the other houses, though. There could be a lot.'

In the next fifteen minutes, twenty-four students arrived. Some ran immediately to other students; some asked politely if she knew anything they didn't. One boy just burst into tears in front of her, sobbing about the fact that he couldn't find his best friend. Rose approached Barbara to help with the on-come of things to deal with, and said, 'I bet they're all right. Fred and stuff.'

'How'd you know that was what I was thinking about?' asked Barbara quietly.

Rose half-smiled. 'Because that's all I've had on my mind since I got down here.' She put an arm around Barbara, who was actually shorter by a matter of inches. 'They should be fine, right? There's Ministry personnel, and professors.'

'Have you heard anything?' came Kevin Corner's voice from a few feet away. He approached with an apprehensive expression, earnest to hear what outcome Barbara had to give. 'Anything we haven't? You know—about the rest of the prefects or anything?'

Rose and Barbara exchanged glances. 'No,' said the latter. 'I'm sorry; if you can't see them around here, everyone's still up at the castle.'

He nodded. 'Okay. Thanks.'

Another look was exchanged as he turned and left, his place filled by a Hufflepuff who looked very shaken. The way Rose interacted with her told Barbara that this girl was probably in seventh year. She asked the same question as Kevin had, but then left rather hurriedly, as her sister (a fifth-year) was down the way.

The sister was crying; telling a story very loudly, allowing the seventh-year to hug her. Barbara approached, because it looked very serious. The girl was whimpering words of death, and she wanted to be sure that these fatalities were not to her family. (Because that's what the Weasleys were, really: Barbara's family.)

'I'm sorry, honey, but what did you say?' she asked very delicately. 'Who's... who's dead?'

The fifth-year dissolved to tears. 'Prof... Professor _Bell!_ A—and Misty.' She sobbed. 'They brought her back to the common room; she—the spiders _killed_ her.'

'We must tell Charlie!' said the other girl, who then turned to Barbara. 'Ch—Charlie's her little brother. He's only in second year...' She shook her head. 'He'll be so upset.'

Barbara bit her lip. A second-year? Without a sister? She didn't know Charlie Mumps; she didn't know Misty. Adrian Bell, though—she had played Quidditch with him, in third year! He couldn't be dead—he _couldn't!_ She knew him! He was only twenty-four; just turned it, too—she refused to think about it. It would hurt too much.

People seemed to have become aware of the casualties up at Hogwarts. There were whispers going around; it had got way, way louder. The youngest students were looking at one another, stunned. She could see the words traced on their lips; declarations of death, of loss, and of confusion.

Groups of them ran to the prefects, bombarding them for more information, even though there was none to give. There were rushes of little boys trying to find siblings, murmurs of the mortality being pronounced up at the school they had all been evacuated from. Everything passed in a blur: a blur of sweat, tears, and hysteria.

But none of that hurt Barbara nearly as much as it did to watch the change of expression on Kevin Corner's face as Mitchell Gilbert whirled around to him and shouted '_where's my sister?!_'.

* * *

(_"I Thought You Didn't Love Her"_)

James's lip was bleeding. His scalp felt warm and sticky but there was little time to stop and quell what he felt very sure was blood. He was running faster than he ever had in his life, and that definitely meant something, because James was an expert at running from a lot of things. Having Fred beside him helped; they'd caught up in the Room of Requirement of all places—but facing terror on one's own was practically equivalent to facing it with a cousin.

'We should turn and fight!' said James. 'Shouldn't we? That's the honourable thing to do—'

'—what's "honourable" about running to our deaths?!' Fred snapped, rounding a corner and grabbing James so that he followed. The acromantula in pursuit of them scuttled off elsewhere. 'I've got a fiancée, and you... you've got...'

'I've got Quidditch,' muttered James rather pathetically. 'I get it. I'd have nothing to live for.'

Fred smacked him. 'What the hell? Where'd you get that from?'

His cousin glared. 'Don't try to tell me it isn't true. Look, I've accepted it—can we just get these bloody spiders eradicated or otherwise sent into oblivion prior to any more deaths?' His tone bitter, James began to turn away, taking steps in the other direction. 'Because that's more important than all this mindless relationship shit right now. People are in _danger_, Fred. _We're_ in danger. Our families, the people we—'

'I thought you didn't love her.'

James's pacing stopped. Momentarily, he bowed his head; then he turned to Fred. 'What?'

'You said you were over Cordelia. You're not.'

'Are we really doing this _now_?'

'Well,' Fred reasoned, 'like you said, we could die any minute. And yes, we are, because I told you to get over her and you told me you did, and I just kind of want to make sure that's still what you're saying.'

James rolled his eyes. 'Yes. Of course I am! Yes! Okay?!'

'Good,' said Fred, giving up far too easily. 'Because I need to know you didn't just do it because of that Corner bloke; she was _going_ to move on, James—_you_ did!'

James snapped. 'Why does it matter?!' he shouted. 'Why does any of this matter? We love who we love, don't we? Most of the time, they sure as hell don't love us back, and that's kind of why it's called a crush, because _that's what it does to you_ but I don't see why it has to be the pinnacle of everything we do when there are men and women and children who're dying and so many other problems in the world and I just... I'm so sick of it all! We're on a mission here—spiders are running rampant, people have _died_—Fred, there's more to be done, don't you see?!'

Fred raised his voice, grabbing James as the corridor gave a great shake. 'Yes! Yes, I _do_ see! I understand that there's more to be done than investing in others, and that romanticism shouldn't be catalyst for the way we live our lives, but it's still _important_, James. We can't punish ourselves forever.'

'It's not... _punishing_,' James insisted. 'It's prioritizing.'

* * *

(_Another Side-Effect of Shaking Ground_)

Cordelia had always worried about death. Now, in the moment, when she had come so close, everything seemed panicky. The moment of clarity that all the books said would overtake her had not. All she could think of was getting out, getting free.

She could barely see Albus, for their light was so limited. They had reunited roughly ten minutes prior to the ground-shaking event that knocked the corridor above from its set placement. Now, several layers of rubble and rock separated them from circulating air. There was barely space to move, let alone cast a spell to shift some of the stone covering the two of them.

When the quake had occurred, Cordelia had turned her eyes up and watched their ceiling collapse upon them. Albus, thankfully a lot more quick-witted and agile, had pulled her out of the way, down into enough of a crouching position before either were crushed. Somehow, they had been left with a pocket of air and moving space; but oxygen only lasted so long.

'We can't try to blast away any rock,' Cordelia said.

'No, it'd just come down and crush us.'

'Can't call for help—don't know _what'd_ hear.'

Albus gave a shallow sigh. 'So I guess... we're... stuck.'

She nodded, but then wasn't sure that he'd seen.

For a few minutes, they sat in silence. It was the kind of silence in which nothing needed to be said, and which neither wanted to break. Both could feel the weight—no pun intended—of their situation pressing down upon their shoulders; the possibility of death, that this could be, in fact, their final resting place.

Then Albus asked, 'Cordelia... are we going to die here?'

The innocence and childishness of his tone struck her. He did not need to elaborate—they could very well have died, either by lack of oxygen or the rock crashing down upon them. Cordelia was aware of that. She wriggled over until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, and then took his hand.

'No,' she told him. 'No, we're not going to die here.'

'Then how are we going to get out?'

She hesitated. 'I... don't know. We'll find a way.'

He chuckled, but it wasn't with mirth. 'Professor Bell...' Al said slowly. 'He's... he's really dead?'

Cordelia sniffed. 'Yeah.'

'You were there?' he assumed. 'You saw it happen?'

After a pause, Cordelia nodded. 'I just—I kind of... can't believe it. That it happened, you know?'

He put an arm around her. 'I know.' Biting his lip, he added, 'Misty Mumps is dead as well.'

Cordelia leaned onto his shoulder. He felt very comfortable, familiar. The air was thick with dust and something vaguely damp, but she felt safe. There was blood in her hair, and she had never been as terrified as she had been in these past hours, and all of that was momentarily _gone_. It was gone because she couldn't see it; she couldn't process it. All she had was Albus and the blanket of silence outside their little pocket of coverage.

Misty Mumps was _dead_? Adrian Bell was? The latter she had seen, and the former she had never expected, and all of it was just _too_ much. Deaths? This was her _school_—nothing was meant to happen here. The issues should have been fickle; based on romantics and very little else, as they had been the previous year. She shouldn't have been worried for her life.

'Do you know if anyone else is?' Cordelia asked. 'Or just those two?'

'Aren't those two enough?'

She shook her head. 'That's not what I meant.'

Albus sighed again. 'No,' he said. 'I don't know about anyone else. All our friends are safe, that I know of.'

'Andy?'

'Don't make me think about that.'

'I'm sorry.'

* * *

(_Ravenclaw Common Room_)

'Bridget, don't go out there!'

'I have to!' the girl shouted. 'Our friends are out there —we have to do our bit!'

Sarah shook her head. She pulled at Bridget's robes. 'Don't do this. Please. That bloke from the Ministry told us not to leave. He said he'd be back in ten minutes—was he? No! It's been half an hour!'

Bridget glowered at her. 'You _do_ realize Cordelia's out there, don't you? Don't you care about that? She's risking her life—she's our best friend; we have to help out somehow!'

Shelley had, up until this point, been sitting beside the fire, debating whether or not she should have gone out and fought. She'd never been good with monsters; she wasn't brave, she wasn't quick with spells—she would have been more of a liability than an asset. This made her wonder if she was a coward. Perhaps she was. But now she disregarded these thoughts and stood, with a twirl of her faultlessly arranged hair; then made her way toward where Bridget and Sarah were arguing at the door.

'You're scaring the fifth-years,' said Shelley. (Because they were.)

'They _should_ be scared,' said Sarah, 'with all this going on.'

Shelley raised her eyebrows. 'I'm not saying they shouldn't be; I'm just saying whether or not someone goes out there and risks their lives—either because they're forced by being a prefect or because they're ballsy enough—then we should let them make that decision. We shouldn't be arguing about it.'

Bridget looked at Sarah quite smugly, agreeing with what Shelley had said.

'In the mean time,' decided Miss Corner, 'I'm going to go down to Hogsmeade Station. See if they need my help.'

* * *

(_Frenchman_)

Louis Weasley had returned to the Gryffindor common room approximately two hours after he left it. Thankfully, Melissa had still been present, helping to patch up the wounds of those who had gone out to fight and had been injured by either falling debris or hexes or something similar. She had smiled upon seeing him, though the rest of her face held what was clearly a worried expression.

'How are things out there?' she had asked. 'How many spiders are there left?'

'I don't know—I've seen about fifty down. Probably more; I've been staying on the lower floors.' His shoulder was very bloody, and probably broken, and it was at this point in time that Melissa had begun to tend to him.

Now, thirty minutes later, Louis sat in the common room still. In spite of this, he didn't quite feel safe.

* * *

_**April 18**_

* * *

(_Countdown_)

The Hogwarts Express would be pulling up to Hogsmeade Station in approximately thirty minutes.

Two-hundred and five out of three hundred Acromantula had been disposed of.

(As had four of their opposition.)

* * *

(_Jason and a beneficial situation he was placed in by an actual architectural corner_)

She wasn't sure why venturing up to the school grounds had been a good idea. Her hair was singed; her face sprinkled not only with freckles but also red spots of blood. Merlin, it had only been ten minutes and Molly had almost been taken down in crossfire. What _did_ these Ministry nuts think they were doing?

She turned left around a corner and barreled right into someone. She'd have thought them related; he was tall and dark-haired, like her cousin James, but he was also bespectacled, and less angular, with the kind of build you expected of people who gave good hugs.

* * *

(_Out of Breath_)

'I didn't ever consider the possibility that I'd die like this,' said Albus, with a confusingly sage kind of tone; 'crushed or suffocated under a corridor-worth of rubble with Cordelia Gilbert.'

The Head Girl, whose company he held, forced a smile. 'We're not going to die, Al. This can't be the end for us.'

He considered this. 'Professor Bell would've thought that. Misty Mumps probably did. All of the other people who're dead—they woke up this morning, like us; got dressed, like us; probably complained about a roommate or a lesson, just like we did... none of them thought that the last thing they did today—the last thing they _ever_ did—could ever fairly have been the end for them. We might very well die here. This could be where—'

'—could you _please_ not say that?!' Cordelia yelped, snapping all at once. She succumbed to tears and threw away any attempt at being quiet. She was shaking, and strangled, high-pitched, squeak-like sobs were issuing from her throat. 'I'm _seventeen_—I've lost my grandmother—and if I die here I'll never have got the chance to say goodbye to Mitch, my parents—I'm meant to work at the _Prophet_ until I get enough money to support myself fully—I had a plan—I was—'

Unable to get the words out, Cordelia gave over to weeping. Her breathing was heavy; her lack of hyperventilation something to marvel at. Albus, who suddenly felt very uncomfortable, let out a sigh. He did not have the heart to tell her to be quiet. At least if a spider found them it would dig out the stone.

* * *

(_Lonely Boulevard_)

Patricia Day had hated Bridget Davies with a passion. The girl had stolen Albus from Patricia's friend, Andy, and had been a very over-devout lover; she had scored Ravenclaw many points in Quidditch games, and was liked by most students who hadn't spent enough time with her for the small "quirks" in Bridget's personality to annoy them.

Somehow, though—it could have been punishment from the universe—the task of stumbling over Bridget's dead body, which was bloody and (in some places) slashed, fell to the Slytherin prefect who had probably liked her least. And, of course, Scorpius.

* * *

(_"How're you doing?"_)

'You really think _now_ is the time to ask?!' Molly questioned, anxiety heightening the pitch of her voice.

Jason frowned. 'Sorry—you just—you looked worried; I wanted to make you feel better.'

Molly raised her eyebrows. 'Well, thanks. Even though we're in the middle of a battle against spiders. Which are bloody massive. Thanks for wanting to make me feel better. Because I could not physically feel worse right now.'

'Hey,' said Jason, 'at least you're not dead.'

* * *

(_The Arrival of the Hogwarts Express_)

They did not seem to need much instruction on what to do when the train arrived. All of the students boarded it, with the exception of some prefects, who had been instructed to stay behind. (This made Rose decide that, for the day, she hated school responsibility, because there was no point in being a prefect if it got her killed.) Barbara herded the stragglers onto the Hogwarts Express and then did double- and triple-checks to make sure that no one had been left behind who wasn't meant to be.

At the deliverance of the information that this was not the case, and everyone was set to go, the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station. Barbara sighed heavily; an act mirrored in Kevin Corner, who sat two benches down. He looked over as she approached.

'No more news?' Kevin asked. 'Are they any closer to getting rid of them?'

Barbara shrugged, seating herself on the bench beside Kevin's. So many of them were spare, now, that there was no need to act as though they were friendlier than they were. 'I'm pretty sure I know what you're really asking,' she said slowly. 'And I don't think it's about the Acromantula.'

The Ravenclaw boy raised his eyebrows, then knit them together. 'What do you mean?'

'You asked me before about if I'd heard anything about the prefects up at the castle, and now you're asking me if there's any news; any chance this'll be over in a little bit.' Barbara looked him up and down. Her eyes narrowed, but not negatively. 'You remind me of a friend of mine.'

'Please don't say "James Potter".'

* * *

(_Roxanne_)

Roxanne Weasley was running. She was alone, too, which may have been an incredibly risky thing to be. There were piles of rubble everywhere, the aftermath of about an hour ago when the ground shook so viciously; and as she passed one of them, Roxanne noticed a foot. It was covered with a black leather-toed shoe, but given the sixty degree angle at which the extremity protruded from the rock, she thought there was little hope of its owner being alive.

Roxanne pulled herself to a halt; in front of her sat an Acromantula —large and black and venomous, with hair all over. She watched, frozen, as its beady eyes fixed themselves upon her. Her breath hitched. She'd taken down a few, but the terror started afresh each time she found herself in this situation.

Roxanne took a step back, raising her wand. The beast bared its fangs.

* * *

(_"She can't marry a coffin, Fred."_)

'You have to go,' said James, leaning back against the cracked wall and wiping sweat from his brow. At the look he received from his cousin, he added, 'c'mon—we're almost done here anyway. There can't be _that_ many left. You should go.'

Fred glared at him. 'What's the point in going if you're so sure we've already won?'

'Well, there's always the off-chance that we haven't,' he reasoned.

Fred remained sullen, which warranted a shove from the other ex-Gryffindor.

'Come _on_,' James pressed. 'Go down to the platform; Barbs is waiting there, isn't she? At least I'll know you two are safe.'

'You know I'm safe now, if I'm with you. And Barbara will be fine.'

'She can't marry a coffin, Fred.'

'She won't have to,' Fred snapped. 'We'll be fine.'

James looked at him. 'Fred, I'm giving you an out.'

'I don't want one.'

'Why?'

'It's a luxury our uncle didn't have.'

* * *

(_Rubble_)

Sennen Cartwright had just bumped into Roxanne Weasley on the seventh floor, and was walking around the corridor's opposite fork when she heard the sound of crying.

* * *

(_Evacuation Day_)

The Acromantula was blasted to dust and Scorpius launched himself at Patricia, who was coughing and grime-coated in the aftermath. His hands reached for her; one wiped at her face and the other held her shoulder. His grey eyes searched the brown pair, investigating them for any sign of discontent.

'Are you okay? Are you all right?'

She batted away his fuss. 'I'm fine. _Honest_.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, yeah—I'm not hurt.'

'Well, _that's_ a relief,' said Professor Dryden from somewhere behind them. He hurried over, glancing around to check that they were alone. 'I've been going around and trying to get the word out. We're almost done here; there are only a couple dozen spiders left. Nothing we professors can't handle; along with our Ministry help.'

Scorpius hesitated. 'Are you telling us to leave the castle?'

Professor Dryden nodded at them both. 'It'd be in your best interest.'

The two Slytherins shared a look.

'Both of you can Apparate, yes?'

When they confirmed this, Dryden encouraged them to do so; once they reached Hogsmeade Station, they were to stay there with the other prefects and volunteers until further notice was made, or "until your parents come to get you".

Scorpius smiled. 'Thanks, Professor Dryden.'

'Don't mention it.'

* * *

(_Emergence and Embrace_)

Cordelia's tears slowed, for they had gone on too long anyway, and Albus could hear footsteps in what otherwise would have been silence. They didn't sound like the footsteps of someone who was running. They sounded like someone who was on a search.

Slowly, unsure of what would follow, Al moved up into a kneeling position, where he was closest to their tiny bit of light and air and called, 'is there someone out there?'

* * *

(_Emergence_)

Sennen whirled around. 'Albus?'

She couldn't see him, but she'd heard his voice. That much was definite.

'Albus, where are you?'

* * *

(_Embrace_)

'Sennen?!' he shouted.

Cordelia pulled herself out her huddle against the wall and the two of them heard the response: 'Where are you?!'

'Under the rock!' the Head Girl shouted. 'We're under here—please—please come and get us out!'

* * *

(_"It's Lottie"_)

The train was long gone, but even so, there were about seventeen Hogwarts students and volunteers who had remained. Not all of them were the prefects who had been there originally, for some of them had accompanied the other students home on the train to ensure that at least _some_ form of decorum was maintained; in fact, at least eleven of them were, to some degree, new arrivals.

Scorpius Malfoy and Patricia Day were sitting together at one of the furthest benches, having arrived ten minutes prior and practically interrogated Kevin Corner for all the things that he knew. Now they relished the solitude, the fresh air of the station, even at one o'clock in the morning (which is, approximately, what it was).

Andy Fawcett was holding her sister Jenna so tight it seemed to be physically paining her, and the former did not seem to be relinquishing her grasp any time soon. Rose and Hugo were speaking manically to Barbara, about the fact that a hefty portion of their family were still up at the castle.

As if on cue, Lily Potter dashed through the doors, all red hair and speed and shock. She burst out onto the platform, staring around at them all—from Rose, immediately in front of her, to Scorpius, who was down the way and who had looked up at Lily's entrance; then her brown eyes returned to her cousin, and her face went white.

'Rose—Rose, I'm so...'

Rose took a step forward, taking her younger cousin into her arms. 'What is it, Lily? What's wrong?'

Lily swallowed. 'It's... it's _Lottie_, Rose. She's—she's dead.'

* * *

(_Thirteen Minutes Later_)

'They're sending everyone down,' said James absently, watching Barbara and Fred, who were intertwined a few meters away. Lily ignored this, and thankfully, James averted his eyes as the couple began to kiss. 'We hadn't seen an Acromantula for about half an hour before we left. Saw Mum—she said the Ministry people just want to do a few more checks of the entire castle,' he explained, 'to make sure that they're not hiding from us.'

His sister nodded, and was about to continue speaking when she noticed that James's attention was still not focused on her. (Nor was it on Rose, who was being consoled by Molly on the other side of the platform.) 'Who're you looking for?' she asked, a bit snappish. They'd been through a massively traumatic event, after not seeing each other for months, and he couldn't even _look_ at her when they were _conversing_?

'No one,' James said quickly.

'Convincing.'

He rolled his eyes.

* * *

(_In Which Andy Plays Some Rugby_)

'_Albus!_' came the initial shout; then, after barely taking one post-Apparition step, the green-eyed boy was tackled to the ground by his girlfriend. 'Oh, thank _Merlin_ you're all right!'

He laughed, winding an arm around her while she clutched at his chest, which was still very horizontal. 'Yeah, I'm all right. You are, too, I presume?'

'Much better now,' said Andy.

Sennen caught Cordelia's eye from a few meters away and mimed throwing up.

* * *

(_Celebration_)

At the news that the castle was completely free of Acromantula, there was much rejoicing. Everyone who was previously up at the school had relocated themselves to Hogsmeade Station, and so the place was packed with fifth- to seventh-years as well as parents and various Ministry personnel.

There was an extreme amount of shrieking and hugging and hullaballoo, and James told Fred very obnoxiously that the first thing he was going to do when he got home was blast some McCartney and dance around in his underwear, to which his cousin replied, 'you're going to pass out. You're knackered.'

Andy and Sennen did a lot of hugging, and Andy and Albus did, too. Cordelia moved a bit further down the platform and, without realizing it, Kevin ran up and threw his arms around her with such force that she was lifted off her feet. (James, who was sobered up after the "knackered" comment, watching on with slight envy. "Slight".)

Patricia and Scorpius dashed over to their friends, surprised at the good fortune that their small group of friends had possessed. There were many funerals to be held for all the casualties, and some of the Ravenclaws were quite worried about how they would take their N.E.W.T. exams with the school destroyed, but overall, everyone was happy.

* * *

(_Two Is Better Than One_)

Fred wound his arm around Barbara, who smiled.

'Everything cleared up with the Weasleys?' she asked cheerfully.

Fred looked at her; possibly understanding just how much he loved her, after being faced with the prospect of not being able to. Whatever flashed across his mind, it involved the girl in his arms.

'Yes, everything's cleared up with the Weasleys. Do you want to head back to our place?'

Barbara tiptoed up to kiss him. 'That would be lovely.'

* * *

(_The Perfect Two_)

Scorpius looked down at Patricia, a grin stretching across his face. 'Want me to take you home?'

She nodded. Their goodbyes to the others had been said. 'I'd like that.'

* * *

(_Youth_)

'This certainly wasn't what I pictured the past half-day being like,' said Andy, leaning into Albus's embrace. She joined him in a slight chuckle. 'I'm serious!'

'I know you are,' he said, 'but come on—this is Hogwarts. Something _had_ to happen.'

* * *

(_Hello, Goodbye_)

Kevin offered to stay until Cordelia left, but she told him to go ahead. Then, giving her friends and everybody else the space they needed, she went to find herself a free place to sit and just_ think_; to mull over the events of the past day—Adrian's death, _Bridget's_; how rotten she felt that she physically had no tears left to cry in lamentation for either of them. She felt like the worst person imaginable, and she could imagine a lot of bad people.

Needless to say, Miss Gilbert had been successfully "mulling" for about three minutes when someone approached.

James exhaled heavily as he sat down, and looked out at the view for a second, the emptiness that had previously been occupied by a train. The only light anyone had was coming from wands and the lamps above their heads. Cordelia didn't know what he wanted.

'I see you and Plain Jane are still going strong,' James observed.

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. 'Kevin dumped me a week ago.'

_James_ raised his eyebrows; his face making it apparent that he found the whole idea quite humorous. '_He_ dumped _you?_'

'Don't look so pleased.'

'I'm _not_,' he said, very unconvincingly. Clearing his throat, he repeated, 'I'm not.'

After a moment, Cordelia shook her head. 'I hate you.'

James looked her up and down, then smirked. 'Nah, you don't.'

* * *

(And that, dear readers, was that.)


	52. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** This is JKR's.

**AN:** Please, for the love of God, go to the blog for this fanfic. It explains so much. (thethirdpottergeneration on tumblr!)

* * *

**Denouement & Epilogue**

(for SC and MS, even though this wasn't his fandom)

* * *

"_Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love." — William Shakespeare_

* * *

_**Denouement: April**_

* * *

There was a full enquiry, as there always would have been for something of this degree. Entire flocks of Ministry personnel searched the grounds, and those most adept in the study of Acromantula did their best to find exactly what reason—if any—the beasts would have had to lead an attack on the school.

There was lots of repair-work to be done, and the students weren't allowed to return, so in most cases, classes were suspended. Were it any other year, there would have been almost two months left of school, but in this particular situation, it seemed more likely that, should the students return at all, it would only be for half that time. Those who had OWLs and NEWTs to study for were having occasional meetings that came very close to turning to real classes. There had been conference rooms in some Ministry departments allotted to those who wanted to revise.

For all the people who had died in the battle, there were funerals and services held. Bridget Davies had something of a small memorial, with her closest family and friends present, and very few others. Almost everyone at the event was in tears. Two days later, the wizard community of Dublin held a service for Lottie Flanagan, which was melancholy but filled with music. There were other funerals organized, like the one for Misty Mumps, but none of them had quite the weight that Adrian Bell's did.

Perhaps it was because he had had friends, and family, and colleagues, and students, and the largest network of anyone else who had died. Whatever the reason, it was a sad, empty occasion.

James went, because his family did, and he watched his father place an arm around Adrian's aunt, and he watched Ezra Meadowes stand up and give a speech about being one of Adrian's best friends at Hogwarts, and he watched this especially because he had been on a Quidditch team with both of them; and he watched Cordelia, who was sitting two rows ahead, alongside Scorpius Malfoy and his girlfriend Patricia, and then he didn't, because he didn't particularly enjoy pining over nothing in particular.

After the service was over, and the clock had struck six o'clock in the evening, they all filed out of the building. Some chose to Disapparate, but Cordelia did not, so James hung back.

She was wearing black, like everyone else, but the dress was slim-fitting without being inappropriate. It fell slightly below her knees, and it was sleeveless, which left her a bit chilly in the evening wind. She breathed out as James approached her; it was this advance that prompted the burly McKinnon bloke she had been conversing with to make a speedy getaway.

'So,' said James casually, somehow managing to slide his hands into the pockets of his trousers without scuffing up his suit jacket.

Cordelia turned to him. 'So.'

He half-smiled, but this faded quickly. 'Didn't your parents come?'

She shrugged. 'They were going to, but then Mum decided it might be a bit hard on Mitch. We—we went to Bridget's... he didn't enjoy it.'

'Don't misconstrue this,' said James after a moment, 'I'm just being decent; you look freezing.'

He then slid an arm around her shoulders, which _were_ cold, and gave her a comforting squeeze. From what he could see of her, she smiled.

'It doesn't feel like a week,' James decided. 'But I can't tell if that's because it feels like the whole thing happened yesterday, or an incredibly long time ago.'

'What's important is that it _happened_,' said Cordelia, leaning unconsciously into James's shoulder.

The sun was setting, and if the sky could be compared to anything, it was a menagerie, filled with reds and golds and oranges, tinted with pink, violet, even yellow. From any other perspective, the scene unfolding would have been quite picturesque.

And, for the most part, it was; because the conversation between James and Cordelia continued for the better part of half an hour, after which they both departed for home. Neither mentioned that it was the first time they'd spoken since the castle, and that both were properly single, and James didn't offer to accompany her home to see if she arrived all right, but perhaps the avoidance of these three topics was for the best. There were much greater things to be focusing on.

* * *

'Article says they're not sure why the Acromantula colony decided to up and attack,' Fred told Barbara, dropping a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ on the kitchen table as his fiancée began to have at her scrambled eggs. He fetched a glass from the cupboard and left it to fill itself up with orange juice as he took the seat to Barbara's immediate right. 'Something about hostility and biding their time, being tired of having to abstain from human flesh—you know, all that touchy-feely stuff that makes you want to advocate their cause.'

She chuckled, setting down her fork. 'What befuddles me, though, is the fact that they made it sound like Hogwarts was covering things up. People were injured, yeah, but the point of magic is that you're cured almost instantaneously. Plus,' with a sigh, and a flick aimed at her fork, 'the opponent didn't really allow for otherwise. When those things are concerned, there's no degree of damage. You're dead. That's it.'

Fred sighed, sipping at the orange juice that he had plucked from the air as Barbara spoke. 'The media was always going to skew it. I mean, it's all rubbish really, but you know, they'll do with information what they like.'

'Merlin,' Barbara muttered, 'I don't know why they didn't just have Cordelia write it. She was actually _there_, and she's doing anything else they ask for these days, anyway.'

'How's that stuff going?' Fred asked, capitalizing on the situation. 'You know, ton of seventeen-year-olds dawdling around the Ministry, getting "early practice in their field or whatever".'

A few Ministry departments or other companies—_Prophet_ included—had offered to take on students in order to give them work experience while they were out of school. Of course, most of said students had taken up the occupation of "layabout", at the Department of "their own bloody house, you prick", but certain ones had taken the opportunity and run with it.

'Al's not "dawdling",' Barbara pointed out, 'and _he's_ doing fine.'

Fred shrugged, draining the glass. 'He's clerking in the Auror Office—you get what I mean. They're spending half their time having those lessons-but-not-lessons things—it's good to be introducing them to the real world early, if that makes any sense. Merlin knows it screwed _us_ over.'

'Sometimes I wonder if this is the real world at all,' his fiancée mused, pointing her wand at the empty dish in front of her, which began to make its way to the sink to be washed. 'Look, it's almost eight, I'd best be off.'

A peck on the lips was exchanged, and then Miss Tennant went off to get dressed for work.

* * *

'I usually avoid the cufflinks,' said Scorpius Malfoy, fiddling with the accessories as he examined himself in the full-length mirror that had been hung on the bedroom wall. Albus, the resident of the house and primary inhabitant of said bedroom, did not look up. This didn't concern his best friend. 'Don't you think they make me look like a prat?'

Lily, who was on her way downstairs with a basket of Gryffindor robes, stopped outside the door, which was open. She took one quick look at Scorpius, using the mirror to do so, rather than looking at the Head Boy himself, then furrowed her eyebrows. 'I don't know. You look pretty dashing to me.'

Scorpius's eyes widened infinitesimally, and Albus's narrowed just as much, but the latter's attention wasn't really focused on the conversation; rather, he concentrated on a letter from his girlfriend that had arrived seven minutes prior.

None of this mattered much to Lily: she was gone in one great swish of red hair, disappearing down the stairs to the laundry. Scorpius removed the cufflinks, then turned to Albus.

'I thought you said no one was home.'

'Well, no one important. I wasn't planning on Lily's presence, but she won't bother us much. I thought you two were mates.'

'We—we are,' said Scorpius. He was unsure as to why his throat had caught slightly but was eager to move on from it. 'Just thought you would've mentioned that your sister was home while I undressed in front of an open door.'

'Scorpius,' Albus told him flatly, 'you've got no shame otherwise; you've been practically down to your pants in the Room of Requirement.'

'That was different!'

'_Honestly_. You'd think my sister had some kind of disease.'

_She does_, thought Scorpius. _It's called "hot". What? No —you don't..._ _you really don't! It's... she's a kid. And you're taken! Happy, too! Happy!_

'Close the door if it's going to bother you!' Al continued. 'I mean, all I know is that you asked me to help you pick out a suit for some swanky function at your aunt's, and I'm doing that, and now you're being odd, so...'

'Nah,' Scorpius batted off. 'Nah, it's nothing. Thanks for the—'

'—on second thought,' came Lily's voice again, without so much as a glance inside the room, 'don't wear the cufflinks.' She was past the door now. 'You'll seem pretentious.'

Albus looked at him pointedly, and Scorpius was about to shrug when Lily backpedaled into view. 'Cufflinks are for the anti-casual, and those above the age of forty-three. You're neither of those things.'

'And how would you know that?'

Lily raised her eyebrows critically, and spoke with the tone of someone who thought themselves conversing with an idiot. 'I'm pretty sure you're not forty-three.'

He smirked. 'Anti-casual, though—why're you so sure?'

'You smile too much. You're too "cool" for it all to be orchestration. Unless it is, in which case you're pathetic.'

'I'm not pathetic, am I, Al?'

Albus looked surprised. 'Oh, remembered me, have you?'

Scorpius glared at him, and Lily poked her tongue out before leaving once again. The former checked his watch. 'Oh—shit, is that the time? Thanks for the help, Al. I'm off to see Patricia—she's wanting help with Potions.'

Albus shrugged. 'Alright. See you tomorrow, mate. Oh—wait!' he said quickly, attention averted from the letter. 'D'you know if Cordelia's going to the revision session tomorrow?'

'Why?'

'Mum's got someone on maternity leave; she wanted to see if Cordelia was interested in taking over the Wasps-Tornadoes article for Thursday's match.' He paused. 'I mean, I could owl her, but—'

'—I'm pretty sure she'll be there. She's been at all of them, hasn't she?'

Albus acknowledged this. 'Right, yeah. You go help your girlfriend; tell her the Potters kept you.'

'"The Potters"?'

'Well, Lily had a hand in it.'

Scorpius rolled his eyes. 'Bye, Al.'

* * *

Rose Weasley stretched out over the faded red paisley couch of her boyfriend's Camden flat. The living-cum-kitchen-cum-dining area was surprisingly clean for a place housing one (sometimes two, depending on how drunk Nicholas Ashwood got at the pub around the corner) nineteen-year-old boy, and very little else. There was a massive bookcase lined up against one wall, and it seemed as though said bookcase had become something of a home for music as well, for there were several albums lying around from different wizard bands.

Will came in, Drying Charm taking effect on his hair, newly dressed from the shower he had just been taking while Rose lazed around in the other room.

'I like your hair like that,' she said.

'What, disheveled?'

Rose laughed. 'Makes you look cool.'

'I'm not cool?'

She moved from her place on the couch and folded her arms as she paced around the room's free space. '"Rose Weasley's Formally Clothed Nineteen-Year-Old Ministry Boyfriend"? Oh, you're the definition of it.'

Will raised his eyebrows. '_That's_ my moniker? Wow, I'm insulted.' He shook his head slightly, proceeding into the miniscule kitchen area. 'Guess I'm going to have to start telling my mates to refer to you as "Will Bowen's Skirt-Wearing Eighteen-Year-Old Hogwarts Girlfriend", then.'

'I don't wear skirts all the time!'

'Just ninety-six percent.' Will leaned against the kitchen bench. Rose began to make her way towards him, smile on her face. 'You like them.'

'_You_ like them.'

'Well, I won't attest to that. But I'm not what's important right now.'

She reached him, and stood quite close, so that they could have had the entire conversation whispering and still be heard just because of their proximity. 'You're always important.'

'More important than what you want for dinner?'

Rose thought about it. 'I _do_ want dinner quite a lot...'

'That's what I thought!' With a grin: 'so, what're we having, Ginger?'

'You're expecting _me_ to cook?'

'No, of course not. I probably should have said "what do you want to watch your boyfriend suffer through making so that I can nourish you in the best way possible", because that would've been more accurate.'

'I don't mind,' said Rose quite truthfully, 'as long as I'm with you.'

'That was cheesy.'

'You're cheesy.'

'I _am_ very cheesy.'

This made Rose laugh, and made Will smile because she had done so. He whirled around quickly, taking her by surprise. 'What do you want, then? Hurry up; I can't deliver you home starving.'

* * *

_**Epilogue: Everything Else**_

* * *

**(2024)**

The entire Tennant-Weasley Wedding was beautiful; it managed to be lavish and intimate at the same time, and there was lots of smiling done by lots of people. Roxanne was a bridesmaid, as was Cordelia, and one of Barbara's older Muggle cousins. Molly the Younger was the maid of honour, if such a thing were required. Fred had James and Felix as groomsmen, because James was his best friend and Felix made him look tall. They were very much in love, Barbara and Fred, and the ceremony could not have been any more perfectly suited.

It was nowhere near as fancy or French as Victoire and Teddy's wedding, but Fred's grandparents had still insisted upon the wedding being at the Burrow (Molly Weasley I may have been an aging witch, but she was tough as nails despite), and so there had been many things to do beforehand like de-gnoming the garden and making sure everything fit correctly.

Andy was invited, because she was Albus's date, and they spent most of the time apart, for the latter was engaged in various conversations with relatives and important people who sought to make sure he was doing just as much with his life as everyone else had been.

'Well, to be completely honest, it's a bit strange to have left school,' he told Zerubbabel Wembley, 'I start Auror Training in a couple of months, so there's a lot to do in preparation for that.'

Zerubbabel—elderly and slightly snobbish—sniffed. With a wry smile, he said, 'it's quite funny, you know, to be here celebrating two young people getting married. They are _so_ very young. Nineteen, is it?'

Albus, whose eyebrows were raised, said, 'yes, that's it. Nineteen.'

'And are _you_ seeing anyone?' Zerubbabel asked, probably in a tone that he thought was joking. 'Because at your age you could be next down the aisle, boy, judging by the state of this affair!'

He laughed deeply, and Albus fought to keep from rolling his eyes. 'Yes, I have a girlfriend.' He looked around for Andy, and spotted her next to the drinks, deep in conversation with Cordelia, who was one of the only people at the service that the ex-Hufflepuff knew. 'She's over there, the one in blue?'

'The pretty one?' asked Zerubbabel.

'I tend to think so.'

'Good job, my dear boy!' the old man clapped him over the back with surprising force. 'Say, isn't she the one who was friendly with your brother a while back? I don't know if I'd trust that—just climbing through Potters, isn't she?'

'What?' asked Albus. 'No—no!' (He realized the bridesmaids' dresses were also blue, just a slightly different shade.) 'Not Cordelia —the one beside her. _That's_ my girlfriend.'

'Ah,' said Zerubbabel, sniffing again. 'And what's she doing for a job now? Something liberal, I suppose.'

Albus, not a fan of his tone, said, 'she's working at the Leaky Cauldron. She's going to bake cakes, though—probably open up a shop for them one day.'

'Ah, so she's a barmaid.'

The eighteen-year-old did not smile. 'I think I've just seen my mother. I'll go have a word with _her_ now.'

'Oh, Barbs, you look _gorgeous!_'

The bride blushed. 'Thank you,' she said initially; then added, 'sorry I haven't spoken to you sooner—everyone's been wanting to speak to me. Thanks for doing all of this... and with your baby on the way —where's the lovely little guy now?'

Victoire smiled. 'Teddy's got him. He's having a bit of a play with the fact that he's'—this being the baby—'slightly metamorphic.' She laughed. 'I think he likes being ginger, though. Teddy's always done the "blue" thing.'

'Oh, but you've always loved the blue thing, haven't you?'

Teddy ran up to them then; the baby's hair was bright red, and his father's was the usual turquoise. He sandwiched Victoire between the two of them and said to Barbara loudly, 'look, Barbs, we're the primary colours!'

* * *

'I expected you to like it a bit more. Was I wrong?'

'No,' said Scorpius, shaking his head, though his words were obviously in vast contrast to what he was actually thinking, 'I just... it's not like you.'

Patricia shrugged. 'We've left Hogwarts, I just thought it was time for a change. My job's been taking off—Tumbleweed's had some really big performances—_you_ know that. I just... I wanted something to commemorate it. Honestly, you're looking at me like I've chopped it all off.'

She moved towards the mirror above her bedside table and began to fluff through the hair that had caused this debacle. She hadn't told Scorpius that she was going to get it cut; now what was formerly long, chestnut brown hair had been drastically shortened, to a layered not-as-short pixie-cut, with highlights at the ends. It wasn't _incredibly_ radical, and Patricia herself quite liked it, so she couldn't see what the fuss was, and why her boyfriend didn't.

'I know,' said Scorpius. 'Sorry, it's just a big change. I was going to ask if you wanted to go up to Inverness this weekend. Dad's mate has a house there, it's nice enough. Not as homely as the Broxburn one, but _that's_ surrounded by Muggles. Anyway—Inverness?'

He cut off, watching as Patricia hurried out onto the balcony, where there was an owl waiting for her. She took the message tied around its leg, then turned back to Scorpius without opening the letter.

'Inverness?' she repeated. 'This weekend?' Her face fell, and she looked genuinely upset. 'I can't. It sounds inviting, certainly, but this weekend the boys have a gig in Cardiff. They can't go without a manager. And I'm working Flourish & Blott's on Sunday; I can't get out of another shift, else they'll fire me.'

Scorpius frowned at her, but then exchanged it for a smile. 'Look,' he said, pulling her in close, 'I'm proud of you. You have three jobs—you're a band manager, and you work in a bookshop, and you've taken a couple of shifts at the Leaky Cauldron, and you're actually earning a_ lot_ more than I am... but I—I just—we never _see_ each other, Trish. Never.'

'We're _seeing_ each other now,' she insisted. 'And you're not earning _anything_, unless it's a slap.'

'Well, not _yet_,' said Scorpius, 'but I'm the humanitarian that the future _needs_. Come on—would you rather I was stuck in a cubicle job doing _nothing_ all day? I'm not my dad.'

'I'm not telling you to be.' Patricia shrugged him off and moved back into the house, where she Summoned her coat. 'You'll figure something out; you were Head Boy, for crying out loud. Os in everything.' She kissed him quickly. 'I'll be back later.'

'Where are you going?'

'The boys need me.'

'_I_ need you.'

'Stop being stupid. I'll be out for dinner, so don't wait.'

Scorpius sighed as his girlfriend Disapparated. 'Of course not.'

* * *

Hugo Weasley was a sixth-year, a prefect, and as of the evening of December 9th, standing outside the entrance to Ravenclaw tower with Gabbie Sterling.

'Merlin, it feels strange to be back here, even after months.'

Hugo nodded. 'I hate it—don't you?'

'I'm having trouble sleeping.'

The painfully bright snow had illuminated their conversation, despite how late at night it was occurring. If anything, this made their location even more strange, for they were really not _meant_ to be out of bed. (However, Hugo _was_ one of the prefects on patrol, and Gabbie was simply standing outside her common room door, so Filch wouldn't have caught them.)

'It's okay. So am I.' Hugo would an arm around her, almost to prove the point. But then he made it clear that he hadn't inherited _all_ of his mother's wit, because instead of saying something incredibly charming, he said: 'Matthew Leighton still talks about you.'

Thankfully, Gabbie shrugged this off. 'He and I wouldn't have really worked out, I don't think.'

'Why not?'

'I've just... I've got myself to worry about, and I'm pretty much content with where my life is right now, and I know that seems absurd coming from a fifteen-year-old, but I don't really need someone to love me in order to be happy. I already have me.'

'And you've got me.'

'Yeah, exactly—and you're a great mate. Don't know what I'd do without you.'

'Probably survive just fine.'

'Fred Boat'd get awfully lonely.'

'I won't leave, then. I promise.'

* * *

'Tumbleweed hasn't got a "Holly Jolly Christmas" gig, have they?'

Patricia rolled her eyes, smacking Scorpius with the back of her hand. 'No, they haven't. No need to sound so bitter.'

'I'm not _bitter_, per se.'

Albus, who sat on the floor of the lounge, enjoying the heat that the air from the fire was giving the couch, gave a disparaging noise. Scorpius turned to him, eyes questioning.

'Sorry, mate,' the former said. 'But I think you _have_ been a tiny bit sour about the whole thing.'

'What—and you're not upset that you see Andy all of twice a week? _I_ see her more than you do, down at the Leaky Cauldron.'

Albus shrugged. 'I send her owls if I'm feeling hopeless and that my future as an AT just did a bunk, and she'll come and see me, but it's not as though we were always going to live the same life, seeing each other seven days a week and all that.'

'But it's almost Christmas,' said Patricia with a slight frown, 'aren't you going to see her then?'

'Yeah, of course—we're going out for the afternoon, after all the festivities at the Burrow and stuff have calmed down. Her nan was going to visit the family in Manchester, and she's really looking forward to that. Apparently, the woman's a b—'

'—"bit senile, but taught Andy how to bake so she loves her despite"?'

Albus's smile faltered. 'That's practically word-for-word from the letter she sent me.'

'And the letter she sent _me_,' said Patricia.

Scorpius smirked. 'Who's "bitter" _now_, Potter?'

Patricia raised her eyebrows. '_Albus_ didn't have a fit when his girlfriend _got a haircut_, though.'

'That was months ago!'

'That was _two_ months ago.'

'Well, it's not exactly my fault I've got more on my mind than counting the days since my girlfriend got a trim—hello, _changing the magical world_?'

'Not changing it _yet_,' muttered Patricia.

'These things take _time_!' he insisted. 'Why _do_ you hate me so much these days? Merlin, it's like we leave school and everyone decides I'm a doormat—Dylan McCormick, I could do without—that bloke had a _lot_ of issues and it seemed _I_ was his self-help, which should have been flattering but it wouldn't have taken a genius to send Higgs some flowers, really; but _you guys_? _You guys_ wanting to get rid of me? _Thanks_. I'm feeling _real_ appreciated.'

Albus stared at him. 'We're not getting rid of you, mate.'

'Yeah!' said Patricia. 'I mean, I know you annoy the crap out of me, and vice versa, but my life without you would be less hilarious. And less like a fashion magazine.'

'So I dress well!'

'Don't be _too _pleased with yourself.'

* * *

Christmas Eve meant the Ministry was buzzing. Everyone should have been home, technically speaking, but the _Prophet_ had no time for that. Compiling the Yuletide articles, excluding the ones about Dirigible Plums having exfoliating properties, and everything else that needed to be done had _every_ department on the move.

And, as usual when it comes to stress, Cordelia Gilbert was right in the thick of it. She was young, and probably underpaid for the amount of work she did, and she was the only Quidditch correspondent who didn't head the department or go on maternity leave every year and a half, so there was lots that people needed for her. But that's what she liked. Working hard merited results, results that meant her name was out there and people were reading what she had to say.

There wasn't much to write about, when given a Quidditch game, because there was really just the score, statistics, and a bit about whichever player was in prominence that particular week, but it was something. A couple of other articles of hers had been submitted, but her sole department remained that of Quidditch correspondence.

She liked her job. She liked the nature of it, that so much of it was really just her, alone with words, but she also liked that Ginny Potter ignored any relationship there had previously been with her family, except for occasionally mentioning something Albus wanted relayed. James _had_ been into the office a couple of times, but they hadn't spoken too much.

In fact, Cordelia and James hadn't spoken for any length of time since Adrian Bell's funeral. There was the occasional interview, for Quidditch stuff, but at best, they were distant friends. She was liking it that way.

'Gilbert!'

It was Crosby Figgins, a forty-ish chap whose sandy hair was greying and not-much. In his hands he clutched the first edition of the next morning's _Prophet_, hot off the press. 'Could you open the door for me, Gilbert? I need this approved by Mrs. Potter; there's a good girl.'

Cordelia, much taller than Crosby Figgins, hurried over to the door of Ginny's office, knocked twice, then held it open for the man and the manuscript.

* * *

The Beatles was playing, which was no surprise. It was one of those things that _Witch Weekly_ had put in their "Little James Potter Things — What We _Love_ About The Youngest Player On The Montrose Magpies!" article about three months back, along with the fact he was bright, wanted to play internationally for England before he was thirty, and wasn't ashamed about wearing a Weasley jumper.

But everyone at this particular Christmas party was enjoying themselves. Dominique, fresh back from France, was chatting to Gus and Alice Longbottom about French botany; Barbara and Fred were dancing and shouting along to the currently-playing _Here Comes The Sun_, and when James entered the room after having a word with his dad in the kitchen (as the man had just popped in to say "hello"), Fred sang to Barbara, 'here comes the _son_,' which sent them both reeling.

Albus nudged his brother. 'I feel bad—Mum's at work having to organize the part of the newspaper that features _you_ and we're here having a party.'

'Well, don't feel _too_ bad. Like you said, Mum's organizing the part with _me_ in it.' With a grin, James made to depart, but then pulled back. 'Wait... is the whole department there?'

Albus raised his eyebrows and gave an expression that said "I know where this is going, don't I?". 'I... I don't know. I should think so. Why, thinking of stealing a sprig of mistletoe and making a trip over there yourself?'

James scoffed. 'No, I'm busy enough making sure people don't trash Grimmauld Place. But speaking of mistletoe...' He took out his wand and pointed it at all the doorways he could see, atop the thresholds of which mistletoe appeared. 'There we go. Thanks for reminding me. Wait, speaking of mistletoe, where's Andy?'

'Oh, she's around here somewhere. Pembridge had her, last I remember.'

'Oh—I haven't seen Liz in ages! I'll go and find her; always _was_ laugh, Liz.'

* * *

Lily Potter examined herself in the mirror. Nothing had changed since she looked in this mirror at the end of August. She still had the same splash of freckles across her cheeks, the same tough brown eyes; her face wasn't any thinner, and her cheekbones hadn't grown "more defined". Her hair was longer, but that was about it for change.

She was freshly dressed from the shower, thus the red mass of hair was still wet, and there was no one she cared too much to impress at her house that Sunday morning, because James had left home and her parents had gone to something at the Thomas household that both Lily and Al had elected to pass on attending, so instead of using a Drying Charm, she just tied it up damp.

'Lily!' came Albus's voice from downstairs.

'What?!' she called back, hoping he had heard her (this family could be _so_ deaf).

'D'you want a butterbeer?'

Lily made a face on her way down the stairs, though Al could not see her. 'It's ten thirty in the morning, why would I—?' She stopped short upon reaching the bottom of the stairs and realizing they had company. The Scorpius Malfoy kind, to be exact. 'Hi.'

Scorpius gave an eyebrow nod. 'Didn't stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, then?'

'Evidently not.' She took the butterbeer Al was offering, even though she didn't expressly understand the need for it. 'But what brings you here? You know, on a Sunday?'

Scorpius shrugged. 'Same thing that'd bring me here any other day of the week.' He gestured to Al with the bottom of his butterbeer bottle. 'That beautiful brother of yours. Can't get enough.'

'I think you're in love,' Lily joked.

'He _did_ kiss me,' said Albus.

'_What?_'

Scorpius rolled his eyes and said exasperatedly, 'we were _going_ to_ die!_ Can't _anyone_ let that go?!'

* * *

'An entire _year_,' Andy said, in such a tone that led her boyfriend to infer the girl hadn't really thought of it before now. 'We've been together a _year_.'

Albus wound an arm around her, planting a kiss on her forehead. 'It's been an odd year.'

'The _oddest_.'

They kissed then, properly.

'You're training to be an _Auror_ now,' Andy told him, with the same profound tone.

'And you're a baking barmaid.'

'Not ashamed of me, are you?'

'You? Never.'

'Good.' There was a pause. 'Because I have something to tell you.'

'What?'

'Sennen and I are opening a shop. In Bristol. It'll have Muggle music and lots of cakes and she's going to write a book about it—she told me. She loves to write—did you know?'

Albus was still blinking at the first two sentences. 'B-Bristol? You won't even be coming to... to London, anymore?'

Andy raised her eyebrows. 'That's not exactly the reaction I wanted.'

'No! No, I'm happy for you—I honestly am!' He hugged her. 'I mean, that's great; you're getting a shop! But London's where the Ministry is, and that was why you working at the Leaky Cauldron was so good, because I could see you as soon as I was done with my day... but if I'm having to go to Manchester, to Bristol...'

Albus shook it off. 'No, I'm being daft. You should follow your dream, and whatnot.' He chuckled. 'You and Sennen, baking cakes and listening to Muggle music all day. Recipe for success.'

'I'm loving that pun.'

'That _bun_.'

'Shut up.'

* * *

**(2025)**

Patricia sipped at the cup of coffee in front of her, wishing it was something stronger. She'd never dreamed a conversation like this would come, not with him —not with Scorpius.

It was a miracle to think they lived together, really. Because she usually got in so late he was asleep, and the sleepy hours of the morning were the only times they were ever truly alone together. He was visiting his parents a lot, and Al.

Thankfully, this time, he arrived on schedule. He hurried into the small Camden café, pecked Patricia on the lips, then took the seat opposite her.

'Thanks for taking some time out of your busy schedule to see me,' he said jokingly.

'I know you're kidding but I was really hoping this wouldn't start on that note.'

'Sorry for ruining lunch, then. I can leave and walk in again, if you like.'

She shook her head, taking another sip of the coffee. She didn't want this to go downhill before it had to. 'How long have we been together, Scorp?'

He thought about it for a moment. 'Around two years... and four months?'

Patricia bit her lip.

'Why?' asked Scorpius. 'Are you okay? Is there something wrong?'

She exhaled slowly. 'I... I don't want to get married... at twenty-five.'

Scorpius looked at her with those grey-green eyes, the kind she'd grown accustomed to seeing almost every day since she was nine. But he didn't look betrayed, which was what she'd been afraid of. For the first time, she couldn't quite tell _what_ he looked like.

'Trish, you're my best friend,' he said.

She nodded. 'Exactly. We're best friends.' She forgot the coffee altogether. 'Scorpius, I love you, but I'm not... _in love_ with you.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'Am I about to get the whole "it's not you, it's me" thing? Because that's all a crock of—'

'No, no, no,' she smiled. 'It's not you. And it's not me—not really. It's just... we're not the same people we were two years and four months ago, are we?'

'No, I guess not. I mean, I'm doing a bit of bar work and probably going to cave into my dad's persuasion sometime soon, go work at the Ministry... and you—you're doing well for yourself, doing what you love!'

'Exactly,' she said. 'We're so different than we were even _eight_ months ago. I look pretty much completely different, and I _know_ you don't like it, but _I_ like it. I like who I am. And I want you to like who _you_ are, and to not be wasting your time on someone who doesn't appreciate you, or have time for you.'

'That's a clever line.'

'That's the _truth_, Scorpius. You're always the one with the clever lines.'

'I _am_ pretty clever.'

'And that's why you should be with someone who _loves_ you; who isn't afraid to call you out on your shit, who calls you an idiot, who wants to change the world _with_ you!' She shook her head, and ran a hand through her hair.

Patricia looked him in the eyes. 'I was _never_ that girl; I've never been one of those people who_ had _to save people. I'm happy with working backstage with a band, and doing a couple of shifts in a bookshop—I'm content with that life, and you're not.'

'Stop trying to tell me what I am,' he protested, shaking his head.

'But I'm right, aren't I?'

He cracked.

'I wanted so badly to love you,' he said quickly, 'and love your haircut, but I loved the girl with the long brown hair—who walked lightly—who _depended_ on me —who was going to marry me at twenty-five because she didn't think she was making practical life choices—now, look how that turned out! And there _was_ some secret, selfish part of me that wanted to be the successful one, but that's _nothing_ now, is it? Now that we're out of school.'

He shook his head again. 'I told myself I loved you, but it was hurting to see that you didn't have time for me anymore. You were off doing things with your life that didn't involve me. Your life doesn't really involve me now, does it?'

'You're still my best friend,' she insisted.

'And you're still mine, but...'

(Then, simultaneously:)

'But I don't think we're like _that_.'

'But we probably shouldn't be a _thing_.'

Scorpius and Patricia looked at each other. The café now seemed loud, crowded; the coffee had gone cold. The lighting seemed darker, but somehow brighter, too.

'So, we just broke up?' asked Patricia.

'I think that _is_ what just happened.'

They were quiet a moment.

'Do you want me to move out?' she asked.

'Do you want to go?'

'I think I should.'

'Just if you want.'

'Yeah.'

* * *

'So, twenty, huh?' she asked. She was very pretty, but it was clear that she didn't really care much about whether or not he perceived her to be so. She had her arms folded as she approached him, and they remained crossed as their conversation continued. 'D'you feel old?'

'That depends,' said James, grinning. 'Will this be published?'

'I'm not a gossip journalist,' she replied.

'Had enough of those, have you?'

'Enough for a _lifetime_.'

James smiled. 'Does _eighteen_ feel old?'

'Not when I'm talking to you,' Cordelia said, putting her hands in the pockets of her cardigan.

'How's the family?'

She shrugged. 'How's _yours_?'

'I thought you weren't a gossip journalist.'

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. 'I can't ask if your family's all right?'

'My mum sees you every week,' said James. 'If we weren't okay, you'd know.'

'Touché.'

The party continued around them, but no one made any move to distract either person from the conversation. Cordelia looked away, around the living room, not searching for someone precisely, but more surveying.

So, James being James, asked, 'seen Corner recently?'

Attention regained: 'Which one?'

'You know which one.'

'Not once,' she told him truthfully. She'd been much too busy with other things to even _think_ about Kevin more than in passing. 'I left Hogwarts almost a year ago; do _you_ still talk to your exes?'

James looked at her.

'This doesn't count. We haven't spoken in months.'

'I still think it counts.'

'I meant the Emmy Brand, Tracey McLaggen ones.'

'_Gossip journalist_,' he sang.

'Stop it.'

* * *

'Whoa—how busy are _you_?' Albus laughed, surprised at the hustle and bustle of the bakeshop, and Andy and Sennen behind the counter both chuckled at this.

Andy hurried over to allow Albus through to the back area, where they had, to the right, their kitchen, and straight ahead, their miniscule office area in which Sennen did a lot of writing and things that were necessary to Muggle shop-running. 'Who knew Bristol loved baking?'

Sennen gasped. 'That should be a thing! Like, that should totally be a thing! We could put it on t-shirts—_Bristol Loves Baking!_'

She laughed about this revelation with a woman over the counter who had just placed an order for two batches of red velvet cupcakes and promised that they would be ready within the hour. 'Andy, do you mind getting on that now?'

'Two batches, red velvet?'

'Yeah—make sure you're not _too_ distracted by your superstar boyfriend.'

Albus bowed. 'I promise I'll be good.'

* * *

'Why does it feel weird to see you cradling a ginger?' Hugo asked, eyes on James as he entered the room.

Barbara and Fred were over by the window, entertaining a few members of Barbara's Muggle family, and Aunt Ginny was making strained conversation with Barbara's mother, Cho, in the opposite corner. The "ginger" James was cradling was one of Fred's, only a week old; Roxanne had the other successfully nursed to sleep (a feat in itself), but James's companion cooed—he seemed rather taken with his godfather—as the dark-haired Potter took a seat beside Hugo.

'I don't know—I'm already an anomaly in this family; least Fred and Barbs could've done was make a pair that had dark hair.'

Hugo laughed.

'I don't even get it,' James continued. 'It's a _recessive_ gene.'

'Don't be sour,' said Hugo. 'Being branded has its negatives.'

'Ah, yes,' said James, recollecting. 'Sorry about that, mate. I'd hug it out, but I'm kind of... with child...'

'Did you have to say it like that?'

'It was too good an opportunity to pass up! And _speaking_ of opportunities...' he leaned in closer. 'Are you or are you not Head Boy this year?'

Hugo blushed. 'I _told_ Mum not to say anything! I _told_ her!'

'It wasn't your mum,' said James. 'Your dad can't keep his mouth shut.'

'You're not serious —_Dad_?! Merlin, that's _worse_, if anything—'

'He's _proud_ of you,' said Lily, butting into the conversation and bringing her half-eaten macaroon with her. 'Mum was the same when I got Quidditch captain last year. It'll pass.' She finished the macaroon, wiped her hands clean, then asked James, 'mind if I take Ben for a minute? Might help you to have some free hands—not that having a baby _wouldn't_.'

'What are you talking about?'

Lily's face was cryptic. 'Barbara has some _very_ pretty Muggle relatives.'

James shrugged, handing over the baby Ben, who seemed more than eager to go to Lily. 'I'm not really bothered.'

'Don't want to date a Muggle?'

James stood, using Hugo's shoulder for support. 'It doesn't concern me. I'm twenty, don't you think I can find a girlfriend for myself?'

Hugo and Lily looked at each other.

'You've been single almost two years,' said the former.

'I mean, I don't mind if you're not whoring around,' said the latter, 'but you're a godfather, and your best mate is a _real_ father. You're twenty, I know, but I don't think you've kissed someone since you were eighteen.'

'I don't think you've kissed someone since _ever_.'

Lily shrugged. 'That doesn't bother me.'

'Introduce these hot cousins to Lou—he's the one who's getting over a break-up.'

* * *

It was now late December, and Al had moved out since the last time Lily saw him. He was now flatting with Scorpius, of all people, who had complained about having too much space to himself since his ex-girlfriend moved out. She—"she" being Lily—had an enormous amount of difficulty finding the residence, which was the penthouse of some extravagant apartment building in central London, but when she arrived, somebody was already outside in the corridor waiting for her.

Scorpius's hair was longer than the last time she'd seen him, and despite the fact that she, too, had aged, she was surprised at just how much _he_ had. He seemed taller, somehow, but there was a much more attainable quality to him now. Then again, the last lengthy interaction she had had with him was all those years ago, with that first year's broken arm.

'Lily!' he said cheerfully.

'Hey,' said Lily, 'I'm here to see Al... is he in?'

She grew wary of the faded smile on the young man's face.

'What's—what's wrong? What's happened? Is he inside?' Lily attempted to move past Scorpius, to the door, but he caught her by the wrist and she was forced to halt. 'What is it? Why won't you—?'

'Andy's in there,' said Scorpius, but it didn't sound like a joke. 'I think I know what's going on.'

Lily frowned. 'They're... they're not _breaking up_, are they?'

Scorpius sighed. 'Al's... Al's been really busy. And Andy's spending all her time over in Bristol at the bakery... it's—they don't—see each other. Ever.'

'Wait... who's doing the breaking up? Is he...?'

'No, it's her. Patricia sent me an owl.'

'Oh,' said Lily quietly. She tried her best to smile. 'How are you and her?'

Scorpius shrugged. 'Friendly enough. Don't see much of each other, though.'

Her eyes strayed to the doorway, behind which a sad, sad scene was unfolding. 'D'you think we can go in yet? I want to see him.'

'I think we'll know—'

The door behind them opened, to reveal Albus, who was looking downcast. Noticing Lily and Scorpius, he said with a shaky attempt at humour, 'done snogging my sister, Scorpius?'

Lily dashed over to her brother, throwing her arms around him. 'I've missed you so much,' she said, 'are you all right? No, of course you're not—I just—Al... oh, Al.'

Over Lily's head, which was pressed into Albus's shoulder, the boy looked at Scorpius. '_She's gone_,' he mouthed, almost choking on the words. '_She's gone_.'

Scorpius frowned. '_Did she say why?_'

'_"Better off as friends"_.'

The blond shrugged. 'You going to stay that way?' he said much louder.

Lily jerked, but Albus replied, 'I don't know. Can you ever really?'

* * *

**(2026)**

Molly Weasley married Jason Smith on June 25th, in a beautiful ceremony to which many people were invited. They had been dating just over a year, but neither had ever been happy or more comfortable. Many people were present at the ceremony—the entirety of the bride and groom's friends and family, certainly—and the highlight of the evening was the fact that people could actually be seen laughing at things Percy Weasley said, and not because they were forced to.

Louis, who had been traveling a lot between England, France, and Romania in the past year, bought a truly lovely girl named Tabitha Perkins as his date, and he spent the entire night with her, dancing and talking and being a lot more than simply courteous. Albus came dateless, but spent most of the occasion talking to Sennen Cartwright, who had offered to do the catering of the wedding for free; her business partner hadn't accompanied her because she had to manage the shop, and Albus was sad to have not seen her, but there wasn't very much to be done.

Fred and Barbara's boys—Alex and Ben—were tottering around, pulled along by their cousin Julian (Victoire and Teddy's son) who was only a year older, but very enthusiastic about adventure. His sister, Amelia, watched enthusiastically from their father's arms. James brought Cordelia (after much heavy pestering—"strictly friendly, I promise; really not looking for anything there"), who had promised not to write about it, and had agreed to come as a friend of the family because she needed to get out and wear a nice dress for a change. This had made James laugh, and Roxanne did, too, when the story was relayed to her.

The evening was capped off with Jason whizzing around telling everyone exactly how he had finally perfected his "sonic screwdriver", something Molly still didn't quite understand, but appreciated all the same. Her husband waved it around at Barbara, for she was one of the very few people to understand _why_ it was so important, and the two exchanged very long-winded, complicated sentences for the next fifteen minutes.

* * *

Lily had taken to spending long periods of time at Albus and Scorpius's flat, now that she was out of Hogwarts for good. She was on the reserve draft for the Holyhead Harpies, by some miracle, and she was doing an odd job for her dad in the Auror Office, but both of these left her with more than enough free time; free time she spent, most often, at the penthouse apartment.

Albus came home one evening in late July and found his sister sitting cross-legged on the couch, eating freshly-made banana bread with his best friend, Scorpius. It wasn't the first time Lily had been around—certainly not—but she and Scorpius were not particularly chummy, beyond joking remarks; _definitely_ not chummy enough to be eating banana bread without _him_.

'Sennen sent it over,' said Scorpius, mouth full. He swallowed and continued, 'want any?'

'Is there any _left_?' asked Albus, slipping out of his shoes and joining them on the couch.

'Of course,' Lily insisted. 'Plenty.'

'So, what've you two been talking about? You know, apart from how to drive me mad?'

Lily rolled her eyes. 'Scorpius wants to change the world.'

'And Lily's a bit of a philanthropist.'

Albus raised his eyebrows. 'Already knew that, surprisingly enough. What—are you thinking of teaming up?'

* * *

**(2029)**

Rose leafed through the first August edition of the _Prophet_, not paying Louis—who sat opposite—much attention.

'So,' he said, 'I heard Hugo's going out with that Sterling girl.'

* * *

Cordelia Gilbert had been working at the _Daily Prophet_ for almost five years now. At the secure age of twenty-three, she had had quite her fair share of successful stories; involving Quidditch and laws being passed, as well as one particularly enjoyable collaboration with her friend Shelley, who was now the most highly-paid columnist for _Witch Weekly_, and had been dating a nice, laid-back guy who worked on the WWN for about two years.

She hadn't seen much of her Ravenclaw friends since she left school; she barely saw anyone these days. It was Patricia at lunch every few weeks, Andy and Sennen when she had a couple of days off; Al on the odd weekend and Will when time allowed. Scorpius, she saw most of, funnily enough. He was working with Lily Potter, of all people, trying to get the last few pureblood-favoring laws eradicated—it seemed to be Scorpius's way of "changing the world".

He and Lily had been successful in beating out any hint of prejudice n the workplace, especially in the older departments of the Ministry. There wasn't much to do otherwise, since most things were pretty equal, but there was always _some_ battle to be fought, and it was usually one of those two people fighting it. (The amount of times Cordelia had had to interview them; it was insane!)

But anyway, on this particular day in late February, Cordelia had awoken to two things in her Chelsea flat: an envelope from Shelley Corner, and an envelope from Ginny Potter.

The Shelley one was talking all about this "strapping, tall Scottish bloke; kind of lanky, likes books—but cute, _your_ type", because she seemed to think that being successful and single was not already synonymous with being happy. The Ginny Potter one was her assignment for the day, sent "overnight because you don't have to come in to the office".

It was probably the most prestigious event of the Southeast British Quidditch season: the publication of the drafting of the English National Team. Cordelia was given the task of going to the stadium where the announcement was being made, in front of all the players who'd first been asked to try out, and it was _her_ job to get it all exclusively—the list, some interviews, the whole nine yards.

For someone who had always liked Quidditch quite a lot, this left Miss Gilbert _quite_ excited indeed. She had hurried to clean up, get dressed, and arrived at the grounds at quarter to nine, fifteen minutes before the announcement was taking place.

She spoke to a few of the guys from Puddlemere United, and the girls from the Holyhead Harpies. James was somewhere over on the other side of the group, and when they locked eyes, Cordelia gave him a quick smile, before moving to take her seat as the event began.

* * *

Six of the fourteen chosen had already been announced, and none of them had been Chasers yet; the two drafted Seekers, the two Keepers, the first set of Beaters. James was biting his lip, breathing heavily. He'd been at these before, these drafting announcements. Never _once_ had his name been called—he was still the youngest starting player on the Montrose Magpies, but he was _twenty-four_; there would only be four more of these things before he was thirty, and then his lifetime dream of playing for England before reaching the big Three-Oh would have been a failure.

It wasn't like he had something else to go home to, if this didn't work out. Fred and Barbara had four-year-olds running around the house, causing torment and being adorable; Teddy and Victoire had their kids, Molly and Jason had theirs on the way. Hell, Louis was engaged to that Tabitha bird—even _Al_ was seeing someone (after having been set up by his _ex_, now _that_ was a bit awkward, but he and Sennen were both really dorky and seemed to like each others' company, so James was happy for his brother).

And still, once a massive womanizer, James Potter was single.

He'd been on a couple of dates, but the longest-standing one of those was a month, before he had to break it off due to the fact the girl hated the colour gold and the smell of _cleaning fluid_, for crying out loud.

But the point of the entire thing was, if James didn't get this, he didn't really have someone waiting at home to comfort him.

* * *

She was manically noting down everyone's name as they were called—"Iwan Crowe", being the last one—but Cordelia's quill slowed as the selection of Chasers began. Those who had been chosen were filing out of the room, into the more celebratory conference area, and their teams were going with them.

'Davey Crotchet,' from the Wasps was chosen, as was the Tornadoes', 'Walsh Fitzpatrick.'

The numbers were dwindling down—four draftees left.

'Abi-Marie Winters, of the Holyhead Harpies.'

Cordelia smiled, despite the fact she wasn't meant to have any kind of bias. She liked Abi; they'd spoken a few times, and the brunette witch seemed to be even kinder than she was athletic, as corny as that sounds.

'Lance Kipling.'

_Two spots left. Two spots left._

* * *

'Lance Kipling.'

_Bloody Lance Kipling. If that jumped-up prick gets on the National Team and I don't, I think I'll punch something._

James tried to keep his breathing even. There were two more people to be chosen, out of ten players to try out. His palms were sweaty, curled under clenched fists. He _had_ to get this. He _had_ to.

Merlin, it'd be _so_ embarrassing for him to not be chosen in front of Cordelia—_forget_ the fact she had to turn this over to his mum later!

'Denise Fisher, of the Appleby Arrows.'

_Shit_. One more.

* * *

Cordelia breathed out. One last name.

And then they said it, like music.

'James Potter, of the Montrose Magpies.'

* * *

And suddenly he did have someone to share it with. Not waiting for him at home, but here, just like she'd always been. On the same wavelength as him and everything, without even being aware of it. It kind of hit James like a Bludger, like it had the first time he'd kissed her. The same person from all those years ago was with him now, on the most important day of his life.

And it was so, so right.

She was right there, and she was so beautiful. She wasn't even looking at him, but then again, it had always been him instigating these things. He was always one step ahead, but only in terms of this.

All James knew was that, as everyone else was leaving, for the other conference space, he was going the opposite way, to the opposite side of the room. To her. And he was kind of running.

Then he reached her and she turned to say something, presumably "congratulations" but James expected he'd hear that word hundreds of times in the coming hours, so instead he just threw his arms around her, with such force that they both ended up spinning.

'Oh, my goodness, James —you—oh—this is great, isn't it?'

'Twice as great _now_,' he said.

She gave a small smile. 'Why's that?'

He shrugged. 'Perhaps because, after not really seriously meeting someone for so many years, I've finally figured out why. And I _think_ you're going to like it.'

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. 'Care to enlighten me?'

'Promise you won't publish this?'

She rolled her eyes.

'See,' said James, not even caring that he was still holding her anymore, 'I met this girl while I was at school. And she was fantastic, but we kind of messed things up. And we haven't really talked for a while, but she's always sort of _been_ there, especially when it was most important. And, funnily enough, she's here _today_. Right now, in fact.'

'Then perhaps you should go tell her.'

James smiled. 'I'm getting to that.'

'Good,' said Cordelia, 'because she might have something to do.'

'You've always got a witty remark, haven't you?'

'Face it. I'm just much wittier than you are.'

'No, I am very witty.'

'I know, but I'm more so.'

'Shut up.'

'But I—'

Miss Gilbert was, indeed, very much "shut up". By James Potter's lips, no less.

* * *

In early October, Patricia Day sent out a series of letters announcing her engagement to Tumbleweed's bass guitar and ukulele player, Benji Marchbanks. Scorpius went to the engagement party, and commented that Benji was just as—if not more—fit than he'd been when they first met at Christmas that one time, and he and the groom-to-be actually got on quite well, which Patricia couldn't tell if she liked or was weirded out by. Andy, who was present and single and not at all uncomfortable with Sennen and Albus, did a lot of dancing at this party, and almost knocked over a piano.

* * *

**(2031)**

It took place in a chapel that was simple enough, with lots of food and music at the reception that followed. The bride looked gorgeous and laughed a lot, and her husband failed in all attempts to reign in his family. The catering was all done for free, because Andy had insisted, and it was a good thing she kept the wedding cake policed, because at one point, the very clumsy, very Muggle wedding photographer—a childhood friend of Sennen's —stopped to clean his lens, got knocked over by Rose Bowen's toddler slamming into his legs, and launched himself, entirely accidentally, onto and _into_ the wedding cake.

'Oh—oh, God—I'm so sorry—'

He continued the incoherent stammering, but Andy, checking out the damage of the cake, turned to him and said, 'look, don't worry about it. I'll have this fixed up in a sec.'

'How?' he asked, cheeks rising in colour.

'Don't question me. Just help me get this thing into the kitchen.' She glanced around at the rest of the guests, and the newlyweds themselves. 'One second, you lot. I promise.'

Together, Andy and the wedding photographer shuffled past each table, carrying the broken cake on its stand; past Barbara and Fred, whose sons looked at the cake, then the photographer, and said, '_wicked!_', past Hugo and his long-time girlfriend Gabbie, past Cordelia and the elderly woman who was investigating the month-old wedding ring on the journalist's finger.

'I don't know how you're going to fix this,' said the wedding photographer, when they finally reached the kitchen. 'I'm so sorry.'

Andy shook her head. 'Don't _worry_! This'll just take a second. Get out.'

'What?'

'Out.'

'Right.'

He filed out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Andy gave her wand one wave, then paused to listen to the photographer's anguished monologue: 'he's going to kill me—I've lost my job—there it goes; I can practically _see_ it leaving me!' She laughed, taking a second to admire her handiwork (for the cake was perfectly restored, all icing and dollops of cream), then poked her head out the door.

'_If _you're done, I may need some help getting this back in to the reception.'

'What? You've fixed it.'

'Hell yeah. I'm magic.'

(They've been dating ever since.)

* * *

**(2033)**

'You guys mess this up, I'll kill you,' said Lily, eyeballing her family.

* * *

'You guys mess this up, I'll never forgive you,' said Scorpius, eyeballing his family.

* * *

James raised his eyebrows. 'Don't worry about me. I've grown to quite like the guy. He's a laugh.'

* * *

Draco tried for a smile. 'At least she's not a Weasley. By name.'

* * *

'Good,' Lily told him. 'Because I would have never spoken to you again if you'd messed up my wedding.'

* * *

Astoria glared at her husband. 'Don't listen to your father. I like Lily. She's got spunk—and she's not overly dependent. That's good.'

'You're telling _me_,' said Scorpius. 'You're not the one who waited three years to kiss her.'

* * *

'And I won't have any stabs from granddad!' Lily told her mother. 'He _knows_ Scorpius isn't a prick.' She chuckled. 'Bloke's so spineless _I_ had to kiss him first.'

'Scorpius isn't _spineless_,' Al argued, pulling his son away from Lily's perfectly-constructed hair, for fear Aunt Fleur would swoop in and have a fit.

'You say that because he kissed you,' muttered James.

'I was seventeen—shut up!'

* * *

_**Back Where We Began: September 1**_

It was warm for September, and the platform was crowded. There was a crowd of about twenty people standing together on one side, near to the train. A ginger-haired man stood beside his shorter, brunette wife, who was fussing over whether or not her sons—both much taller than her now—were ready to go, if they'd forgotten anything.

'No, mum,' Alex Weasley grumbled. 'You made us check three times.'

'Not counting on the way here,' Ben, his twin, pointed out.

'Well, I had to be sure,' Barbara told them, straightening out a disgruntled Alex's collar. 'I _do_ worry about you, you know.'

'They've managed six years before this, Barbs,' her husband soothed, 'I think a seventh might be just habitual.'

'Yeah, exactly!' Ben said, reaching across to give his dad one last hug. 'You ready, Alex?'

Alex mimed cracking his knuckles. 'Cressida Corner _is_ looking particularly fit this year. _Mum, stop, I'm kidding!_'

The boys began to hurry off, and Fred leaned over to his wife. 'Three... two...'

'No, I'm not!' called Alex, without looking back.

Barbara stared at her husband. 'How did you do that? Count down?'

Fred shrugged. 'Spent my whole life with James. Our older twin just so happens to be a carbon copy.'

* * *

'Remember, Matt, don't hit anyone if you want to be Head Boy.'

'Unless they're being a total swat. In which case, sock them in the jaw.'

'Don't listen to your mother.'

Matt stared at his father, green eyes judgmental. 'Since when have I _ever_?'

Albus shrugged, winding an arm around his son. 'I'll give you that. But don't hit anyone, all right? And don't duel someone who probably has half the brainpower, because it's just unfair.'

Again, Matt stared at him. Then he pulled up the arm of his jumper to reveal a very skinny limb; he flexed, to no avail. 'Dad. I think brainpower's the only form of superiority I've got. Don't worry about me misusing it.'

Sennen laughed. 'And I thought you'd actually punch someone.' She hugged her son, much against his will, and said, 'you'd best get on the train before it leaves. I'll write every day.'

'Mum, it's not like I'm dying. Just let me go.'

Albus rumpled up his son's hair. 'See you in a bit, yeah?'

'Try four months.'

'It might kill me.'

Matt grinned. 'Okay.' He bit his lip. 'I'm going to go now.'

Sennen and Albus took a step back, both gesturing to the train's open doors. Matt braced himself, turned to them, waved, and began to step backwards towards the train. (He then, of course, proceeded to trip over another student's trunk.)

'Oh, Merlin, sorry—' He turned to his parents and waved one more time. 'Bye, Mum! Bye, Dad!'

Al raised a hand. 'Bye, son.'


End file.
